Bloodlines
by Sheherazade's Fable
Summary: Post XMA. Comes after "A Friend in Need." The hunt is on for Essex. With the birth of their child only weeks away, Charles and Moira are eager to welcome the baby into a safe world. But while Essex may still be miles away, complications are still possible, and other tensions at the school are brewing. Sometimes, trouble is just something we inherit. Charles/Moira, canon pairings.
1. Chapter 1

"Nope. No one's here."

Charles rubbed his forehead and rested his hand on his chin. Peter tried to say something else, but the signal came through garbled, and Charles saw Erik rub his jaw in the early stages of concern. Next to him, Moira reached out with one of her hands, trying to readjust the dial to make the sound flow more smoothly.

The other hand rested on her belly, swollen with her pregnancy, now nearing its thirtieth week. Her wedding band and engagement ring, had recently moved to a chain around her throat when her fingers swelled.

Every so often, he found himself staring at them.

"-and I said that if you don't like root beer, then you can't have root beer floats, and what is the purpose of anything if you can't have those? Granted, he liked twinkies-"

"Chuck, where's this kid's off-switch?"

Logan's voice came through dry and irritated. Kurt chuckled next to him, but winced after a few seconds and held his still healing abdomen. Next to him Raven put a restraining hand on his arm, and he slumped, frowning.

"He doesn't have one," Erik said drily, "Quicksilver, back to the part where you said the Muir Island facility is totally abandoned."

"Right," Peter said.

"So, I was looking in there, top to bottom, and Wolvie was making sure no one was on the perimeter, but it looks like everyone's gone," said Peter, "And it hasn't been this bad since that time we checked in after Moira's kidnapping."

Ever since Moira was recovered, they'd been doing spot checks of the Muir Island facility. Given the events of a few months ago, they'd since stepped up their efforts. When Peter had gone in to check with Logan as back up, he'd radioed in only after a few minutes.

It was a major change, and those never sat well when it came to Essex.

"How bad was that exactly?" asked Erik.

"They had like 20 guys visible," Peter said, "But I think most of that was to clean up the snow Storm dumped on 'em."

"And no one's visible now?" asked Charles.

"Nope," Peter replied, "And then, just to make sure, I ran around inside the facility a couple of times. No one, and they even took the soda out of the fridge."

Charles rubbed his forehead, and he saw Moira just shake her head.

"Peter, you weren't supposed to go inside," she said, "What if you'd tripped an alarm?"

"Much as I hate to encourage this kid, I cut the power first," Logan said, his voice grudging.

"Yeah, so totally safe," Peter said, "And, do you know what else really gets to me? There wasn't even toilet paper in the bathroom! Who does that?"

"You wanted to use their bathroom?" asked Raven.

"Not after I saw there wasn't any toilet paper," said Peter, "Keep up. But anyway, it was cleared out."

"Yes, I understand. But Logan reported at least fifteen there last night," Charles said.

"Perhaps he can't count," Erik said.

Peter laughed, but Charles could hear the labored breath on the other end that signaled Logan's irritation.

"I missed breakfast with Laura for this shit?" he said.

Charles and Erik exchanged a look. The number of fires they had to put out when it came to Logan seemed to triple with every day they spent without finding Kayla. While Charles could understand his frustration, it could still get taxing.

"Now, we're going to all take it slow," said Charles, "What we have is one empty facility that was moved very quickly. Kurt, do you think teleportation of that scale, supplies included, is possible?"

Kurt looked thoughtful, leaning back in his chair and resting both his hands on his still-healing stomach. Raven frowned and moved his hands so he wasn't putting any pressure on it. He made a face, but the corner of his lips turned up slightly.

"Ja," he said at last, "But not too far, maybe a few miles, but zey vould haf to stop for breaks. Zen again, ze man, Wraith I zink? Ja. He vas very gut at quick teleportations."

"I really hate that guy," said Peter, "Next time, I won't get shot, and he and Mr. Shooty won't get away."

"Mr. Shooty," Logan snorted, "We know their names."

"He has a stupid name. I like mine better."

"Any clues as to where they were headed?" asked Charles.

"Lemme look again."

"Quicksilver-" Charles tried.

There was another woosh, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You'd think he didn't learn anything from getting shot," Erik said.

As much as it pained him to say, he had to admit Erik had a point. Even after his injury, Peter's recklessness had still seemed particularly glaring. Trying to slow Peter down after he'd gotten an idea in his head was the equivalent of trying to put a square peg in a round hole: it never quite fit.

Much like it hadn't with Erik. His friend, to the best of his knowledge, still had no idea. He'd have to have a quiet word with Peter. It might be awkward, since he didn't know Charles knew, but they would have to find a way around it.

Erik was already starting to get the idea that, for whatever reason, Peter was interested in getting guidance from him, or at least talking with him. It had resulted in a sense of concern from him, but he wouldn't appreciate having a secret of this magnitude kept for this much longer.

"So, I saw a form on one of those computers that mentioned the Yashida Corporation," Peter said, "Sounds Japanese."

Memories, born from the documents Charles head salvaged from Kayla's mind, surfaced.

"It is," said Charles, "It's a technology company located in Japan."

"They work with Essex?" asked Logan.

"Yes," said Charles, "Mostly they buy parts from them, so I hadn't thought too much about it, but..."

He made a note to investigate it. It was likely they would have to go over there, resulting in another multi-country trip. He'd have to be careful though. Many of the teachers were already noticing how much time most of the children were spending out of class for one reason or another. It was why the rest of the X-men weren't there now.

However, he looked down at his watch. He'd have to figure it out later.

"Quicksilver, bring Wolverine back," said Charles, "We'll discuss the next step later."

"Sir yes sir!"

He rolled his eyes, but waited until Moira gave the sign they'd passed within school grounds before he got up.

"You're in a hurry today," Erik remarked.

"Kevin's birthday party is in an hour," said Charles, "We haven't even put the streamers up and there is a distinct lack of balloons."

Erik shrugged as Moira got up. She wobbled as she did so, one hand on her head. Charles rushed over, but Raven had already lent a steadying hand. She gave Charles a smile before placing on hand on her forehead.

"Headache love?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, "I should be fine though."

He looked at her, troubled. Lately her headaches were more like migraines.

"Moira, how about you go rest up before the party?" he asked.

"You don't need to mother hen me all the time," Moira said, "I've done this before you know."

"Yes, so you know how much headaches can hurt if you let them get out of hand," said Raven, "Go on. I'll help him with the decorations. He's kind of hopeless by himself you know."

Moira ran a hand through her hair.

"That I do know," she said, "Fine, fine."

Charles sighed.

"While I'm glad you're doing as I asked, I am a little put out by the justification," he said.

"What, do you need me with you?" asked Moira, amused.

"No, no. Don't worry," he assured her, "We'll get everything ready. I'll call you when the first guests start arriving."

"The first guests? They all live here," said Moira, "It's not like they're going to be late."

* * *

Emma finished brushing Laura's hair, letting the waves and curls it naturally fell into rest against her back. Laura picked up a strand and began pulling it around her finger before Emma took it and twisted it into a ponytail.

"I think I like this better than braids," Laura said.

"Good," said Emma, "I think it shows off your hair better, and it doesn't get in the way of your face."

She turned her around, and Laura felt her aunt's appraising eyes on her. As always, Emma smiled at the end.

"There, you're all ready for the party," Emma said, "You're quite lovely, as always."

"Can I have lip pick?" asked Laura.

"Lip stick, and no you can't," said Emma, "That's for older girls."

"Xi'an wears it sometimes," Laura said.

"She does," Megan piped up.

Her aunt rolled her eyes.

"I don't care what Xi'an does, I care what you do," said Emma, "And I say you're too young. And don't ask for eyeshadow or mascara either, because it's the same thing."

Laura shrugged and looked at herself in the mirror again. She was in her best dress, purple with a pie collar. It was similar to her old favorite pink dress, but when Laura had realized the rust stain was on the white collar was Essex's blood, she realized she didn't want to wear it anymore.

Her best shoes had been ruined in the woods, and she had new black ones. She clicked them together once before lacing her fingers together and smiling.

"Thank you for getting me ready Aunt Emma," she said, "Can I go to the party now?"

"It's not for another hour or so," said Emma, "You'll have to wait for a bit."

Laura jumped from one foot to the other, feeling anxious. Her eyes trailed over to the present she'd wrapped that morning. She'd actually had to rewrap it because her aunt said she used too much sticky tape. Laura didn't see how that was her fault though: once it touched the paper it hadn't wanted to come off.

She picked it up and then, as an after thought, picked up _Peter Pan_. She'd completed it months ago for her book report, but had kept it close after that. Every few nights she would reread it, make sure she hadn't missed anything.

However, it was coming up on its due date. If she didn't restamp it after checking to see if anyone had a reservation, she could get in trouble.

"Do you mind if I go to the library and wait?" asked Laura.

Emma frowned, having put down the brush and picked up her calculus book.

"You'd be all alone," she said, "The party won't start early just because you go downstairs."

"I know," said Laura, "But I need to renew this, and I don't wanna wait."

Her aunt's frown deepened, and Laura tried her sweetest smile.

"Please?" she asked, "It's my first birthday party: I won't want to miss it. I'll be fine."

Emma sighed, but smiled.

"Alright," she said.

Laura grinned and scurried off, the gift and her book in hand. She moved across the carpeted rooms with her head held high, her ponytail bouncing behind her. A few of the older kids nodded at her, or didn't pay her attention. Laura liked that, not being remarked on or too noticed. She was fitting in. She was supposed to be here.

Skipping down the stairs, she hurried into the library. Laura put Kevin's gift on one of the tables and then looked at the ledger. No one wanted her book. She smiled and restamped it before hugging it tightly to her chest.

"Hey kid."

She started, and then turned around. Her father was in the doorway, giving her that same lazy smile she'd come to associate with him. She tossed the book on a table and ran toward him. He raised his eyebrows, but still bent down to pick her up.

He kissed her head, then shifted her weight. She let go slightly so she could look at him, but still kept her hands clutching his shirt for balance.

"Whatcha up to?" he asked.

"Just renewing my book," she said, "And I have Kevin's gift for later today."

"Oh, right," he said, "Chuck's munchkin has a birthday."

She laughed, because she'd just figured out what a munchkin was a few weeks ago. _The Wizard of Oz_ had been a good book. Her father was very funny, and she thought she was finally understanding what Kevin had meant about the tone making things have different meanings.

"So, what did you get him?" he asked.

"Books by Jane Austen," Laura said proudly, "A collection."

Her father made a face.

"Those are girls' books," he said.

"Are not," said Laura, "I've seen Kevin read them."

"I mean...never mind," said her father.

He shifted her again, and she smiled at him.

"Where were you this morning?" she said, "I didn't see you at breakfast, and that means I haven't seen you all day."

"I was out," he said.

The final word was said strangely, and she pursed her lips in thought.

"Were you looking for mommy?"

He paused, and she saw him chew on his cheek. Laura had the feeling she'd done something wrong, but she couldn't see how.

"Yeah," he said, "Yeah."

Another thought occurred to her, and she smiled.

"Didja find her?"

"No."

The word was sudden, borderline sharp. Laura shrank back in his arms, the image of the beautiful woman they'd seen in the woods flooding her head. Laura hadn't really known she was her mother when she'd seen her, and every day she could tell the memory was getting fainter.

It felt like she was losing.

"Hey, hey," her father said, chuffing her chin, "I'm not gonna give up. And she won't either. You know she wants to get back ta us, how much she loves ya, right?"

"Of course I know," Laura said.

Her father looked at her, and she saw that strange, uncertain look he often got around her. It worried her, because Emma hadn't done that. Emma had always looked at her confidently, except that night when her hands and feet bled. But her father, he seemed very concerned sometimes.

She frowned thoughtfully, then smiled as she looked at the book on the table.

"There's this part, in this book," she said, "I think I'll get it right, but maybe not. It says there's a place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming."

He held her tighter. Did he understand?

"And that's where I think she is right now, because she's out there, but I can't touch her, and she can't come here, even if she wants to," she said, "Not yet. The spirit world, right? But it's where she loves me, and where I can really feel it."

Her father cleared his throat and, briefly, looked away.

"Right," he said, "Right. That's...that's right."

He swallowed one more time, and shifted her weight again. His eyes shined for a minute, and Laura pulled at her sleeve, getting ready to wipe away any errant tears. She'd be crying about her mother too if he'd given her too many details. At the moment all she'd done was talk about feeling loved. No matter the circumstances, that was a happy thought, not a sad one.

"So, when's the party?" he said.

"An hour or so," replied Laura.

"And you're all ready?"

"Yep!"

Her father cocked his head, thoughtful.

"Hey, ya wanna go out for a little bit?" he asked, "I'll have ya back in time."

"I dunno," she said, "I think Emma thinks I'll be here."

"It'll be fast," said her father.

She gave another uncertain frown, and he chuckled.

"Alright, going for the hard sell," he said, "Wanna ride on the motorcycle?"

Her eyes lit up.

"Yes!"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** And I'm back! A special thanks to all of my returning readers, and welcome to all the first-timers!_


	2. Chapter 2

When the alarm clock went off, Moira's headache was nearly gone. She sighed and drank some water. She couldn't remember having this many headaches when she was pregnant with Kevin, but she'd read that not every pregnancy was exactly the same.

She sighed, getting up with some difficulty. Her belly was so big now that doing anything involving getting up was a chore. Moira moved over to the bathroom, feeling not quite a stranger in her own body, but as though someone had slowed down the world. Her feet also hurt, which really didn't help with that feeling of alienation.

Moira washed her face and brushed her hair. She even reapplied a little make-up, trying to ensure she looked alert enough to keep Charles and Kevin from worrying. Kevin's worry was more mingled with curiosity than Charles's though. They'd learned the baby's gender a few months ago, and he'd been telling anyone who'd listen about how he was about to have a little brother.

Finishing up, she headed downstairs. She still prided herself on being able to take the stairs, even if she'd had to switch shoes. Her feet, like her fingers, seemed to be swelling uncomfortably as time went on.

She'd just reached the bottom step when Emma approached, looking worried. Moira frowned.

"Have you seen Laura?" Emma asked.

"You haven't?" asked Moira.

"Not in a while," she said, biting her lip, "She said she was going down to the library to wait for the party."

"And she's not in there?" said Moira.

Emma's teeth bit harder into her lip. So no then.

"Calm down," said Moira, "I'm sure she just stepped out for a minute or two, or maybe she went back to the room the long way."

By the look on Emma's face, she might as well have said nothing.

"Do you think the Professor can go on Cerebro?" she said, "I'd really, really appreciate it."

Inwardly, Moira sighed, although she understood. Charles had been looking forward to being there for Kevin's birthday, the first one they would spend together. Next year, they'd be handling a baby at the same time, so this would be the only time for the three of them. They would be a welcome addition, but still.

She was sure Laura had just wandered off, perhaps been distracted by something happening in another room. However, the last time Laura had gone missing, she'd come back to the school covered in blood.

"Alright," Moira said, "I'll go and get him."

Emma nodded, just as the sound of a motor juddered in their ears. Moira looked out the window and saw Logan pulling up to the school. Emma noticed too, moving around Moira so she could get a good look.

Logan got off the motorcycle, and then turned back to help Laura. The girl's helmet dwarfed most of her head and, when he pulled it off, a messy, loose ponytail came off. She was laughing, and Logan hung it back up on the handlebars.

Next to her, Emma took in a sharp breath. She turned away, her hands clenching and unclenching.

"I'm sure he didn't mean any harm," Moira said, "He probably just wanted-"

The door opened and Logan walked in, Laura's hand engulfed in his. Laura grinned when she saw them.

"Hi Aunt Emma, Miss Moira!" she said, "I didn't miss the party, right?"

"It's just about to start," Moira said.

Emma turned around, and gave Laura a quick once over. Now that she was closer, Moira could see dirt dust had covered the skirt of her dress and was sprinkled on her white socks. Her hair was even messier up close.

Laura's grin started to falter, but Emma smiled and knelt down in front of her.

"Let me see here," she said.

She brushed away the dirt from her dress, and got most of it off her socks. Emma tilted her head, and then took Laura's hair out of the ponytail. She ran her fingers through it once so that it fell naturally down her back.

"There you are, all lovely," she said, "Your father just gets you all messy, doesn't he?"

Although the tone was light enough, and Laura giggled, Moira could see the way Emma's eyes flickered up to Logan's when Laura wasn't looking. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, but Emma took Laura's hand.

"Now come on," she said, "You don't want to miss the games, do you?"

Logan let go of Laura's hand without protest, although the girl turned and looked over her shoulder.

"See you soon daddy!" she said.

Emma gave her an indulgent look, but Moira caught how Logan winced. She waited until they left until she turned to him.

"What did she say?" asked Moira.

Logan crossed his arms, giving her a quick once over.

"I'm married to a telepath, and my son is one too," she said, "I can tell when someone's being contacted."

He shrugged, but she could see the irritation there.

"I've been a mother for nine years today," she said, putting a hand on her stomach, "And I'm getting ready to do it again. I'm not an expert on children or parenting, but I might be able to help."

Logan cracked his neck, looking after where Emma and his daughter had exited.

"She told me not to ever take Laura out again without tellin her, and not on a motorcycle," he said reluctantly, "Said it's a death trap."

He snorted.

"An I get it, but it wasn't even an hour," he said, "I hadn't seen her all day."

Moira gave him a smile, although it was an uncertain one. While Emma had accepted Logan's role as Laura's father, it seemed that the two clashed on a regular basis. Logan was trying to be careful and patient around the sister of the woman he loved, but she could tell it was wearing on him.

And sooner or later, Laura was going to pick up on it.

"I think it's time the two of you talked, established some ground rules," said Moira, "Emma is understandably protective, but she told you she was going to accept you into Laura's life. She even offered to get out of the way. The motorcycle thing...you might have to find a compromise."

"Laura loves it," he said stiffly.

"And she has a healing factor, I know," Moira said, "But you will have to compromise on some things. Just...talk to her about it."

He nodded, but it was a grudging one.

"She's got walls there," he said, "Not the same type as Kayla did. These ones...they're stronger. Higher. She doesn't just hate the idea of anyone gettin in, but she hates the idea of someone takin care of her."

Moira rested her other hand on her stomach. She was on precarious ground even if he had been the one who mentioned Kayla's name. Any time someone mentioned Kayla in front of Emma and Logan, things got touchy.

"Did she want to be taken care of?" she asked.

"Nah," Logan said, "But...she could talk. She's not an open book, but...I could talk ta her, after she trusted me. Emma doesn't trust me. She tolerates me cause I'm Laura's father and she knows I love her, knows I love Kayla. The moment I do something she doesn't appreciate or agree with though..."

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Moira sighed.

"She's not a bad kid, and I know you know that," she said, "I think she feels responsible for Laura, and, while she trusts the idea of you and Laura, she's not sure if you'll do things that are necessarily safe. And...I think she doesn't trust the idea of you and her. It'll take time."

He looked at Moira.

"Easy for ya to say," he said, "She trusts you."

"I was a stranger when we met, and I was willing to risk my happiness and life to help her and her niece," Moira said, "I got her to safety, and in her mind, there was no reason for me to help them. You're Laura's father. I think she thinks it's your duty to help, so anything along those lines isn't going to make headway."

"She's not far off there," Logan said.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I need a smoke," he said.

"You have to do that outside," she said.

"I know," he said.

He walked out of the hall, slamming the door behind him. Moira winced, and then ran a hand through her hair. Things had been difficult between the Emma and Logan since they'd learned Kayla was alive. Charles thought it would bring them closer together, but it seemed to be doing the opposite.

"Mom!"

She turned around, and smiled. Kevin was already wearing a birthday hat, the string tucked under his chin. He'd hated doing that in the past, always taking it off in ten minutes. But he just shrugged and grinned when she raised her eyebrows.

"Everyone else was wearing them," he said, "I figured I'd give it a go."

"Alright," she said, "Alright. You ready to turn nine?"

"I turned nine when I woke up!" he said.

"You don't turn nine until the party starts, you know that," Moira smiled, "Now come on, let's go see what's going on, shall we?"

"Yeah," he said.

He grabbed her hand, and she allowed him to lead her in. Someone had rolled out the Twister mat, and Megan was jumping on the different colored circles. Her wings were fluttering behind her, although she would look back and frown at them every second step. Xi'an and Sam were nearby, with Sam trying to explain the rules.

Laura was simply twirling the spinning arrow with her finger. When Kevin came in she got up and flung her hands in the air.

"Happy birthday!" she said.

She was quickly followed by other well wishes. Kevin let go of Moira's hand and moved toward the mat as Charles wheeled in. He smiled at her, and then turned his attention to what Megan was doing.

"It's not hopscotch," he said, "Although I'm surprised you wanted to play Twister."

"Sam said people hit people playing this, and I have wanted to hit him all morning," said Xi'an, "He is being very difficult."

"Ah did not!" he said, "And am not!"

She grinned at him, and Charles just shook his head.

"Let's try something a little less complicated," he said, "Let's see here."

He glanced over at Kevin and tilted his head. Kevin tilted his head back at him and smiled. She thought she saw Charles's eyebrows raise, but he smiled anyway.

"Alright, hide and seek," he said, "Kevin's going to be the seeker the first time, and I'm referee. I will be able to find you wherever you hide, so everyone come out when he says, and I'll know when people were lying."

"You'll never find me," Sam boasted.

"Yes I will," said Kevin, "I'm just like my dad. I can just-"

"No gifts," Charles said.

Kevin looked disappointed, but Charles put his hands up.

"Or it'll be over in five minutes," he said, "And the cake's not done, which reminds me: no hiding in the kitchen, and no going outside. First floor only."

"I can't hide on the roof?" asked Megan.

"No," said Charles, "And...just stay off the roof in general."

She pouted, and Kevin covered his eyes.

"Until thirty," he said, "One-"

The children scattered, scrambling to get out of the room. Moira walked over and put a hand on Charles's shoulder as Kevin continued to count.

"The cake's not ready?" she asked.

"Well...technically it is," he said, "But it hasn't cooled enough to frost it."

"I'll go see what I can do," she said, "I take it you have things under control here?"

"Love, I run a school of super-powered children," he said, "It's relaxing to only worry about four for an afternoon."

"Whatever you say," she said, "I'll be back in ten."

She withdrew her hand, but not until he snatched it and kissed the back of it.

"Thirty!"

He released her hand as Kevin ran out of the room. Moira smiled and headed to the kitchen. It was empty when she found her way in, and she put a hand over the cake to test for heat.

It was cool, so she began looking for the frosting. Her feet were starting to hurt again, and she impatiently shifted from foot to foot. She'd just found it when Hank came in, shaking his head. He smiled at her, and then went into the freezer and pulled out an ice pack.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Sam got to running, and he actually hit a wall," he said, "You know how he gets up momentum. It'll just be a bruise, but an ice pack will make him feel better."

"Just as you say," she said.

Moira picked up the frosting, then leaned against the counter again, sighing.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, just the little guy in here," she said, "My feet are hurting like crazy, but my headaches have stopped."

"Wait, your feet have been hurting too?" Hank asked.

She laughed.

"Hank, I'm pregnant," she said, "I'm carrying the weight of another human being as well as my own. My feet are going to hurt."

"Yeah," Hank said, blushing, "Uh, yeah. Sorry, of course."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Do you need better shoes?" he asked.

"If you can size them up," she said, "They've been swelling like balloons lately."

Hank cocked his head and scrunched his eyebrows. She sighed. While she knew Hank meant well, it was more of the same mother henning Charles went through. It was Charles's first pregnancy, she understood that, but it was like they'd never heard of pregnancy before.

"Do you mind if I...take your blood pressure after this?" Hank said, "After the party I mean."

She rolled her eyes and opened the drawer with the knives.

"Hank, I have been on my feet more during this pregnancy than my last one," she said, "It happens."

"I know, I know," he said, "But...please? Just...humor me this once."

Moira looked at him, and immediately felt bad. His expression was so earnest, so worried. It still felt a bit like they were trying to give her safety bumpers, but the concern and care behind it was genuine.

Her first pregnancy hadn't been like that. She closed her eyes, remembering doing so much without help. She should enjoy the help, shouldn't feel strange. But the fact remained that it did feel strange sometimes, going through something she'd gone through without a loving husband and large support group.

"Alright," she said, "I'll let you take my blood pressure after the party. Well, an hour after. I don't know how stressful this'll be. But just..."

She sighed.

"Don't tell Charles you're doing it," she said, "He worries enough as it is."

"Got it," Hank said, "I'll just run this to Sam before it melts."

Moira smiled and nodded before turning back to the cake. It wasn't going to frost itself.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, do you want cake?"

Erik turned around from his print outs. Peter was standing behind him, balancing what looked like four different plates of cake. A few crumbs were scattered down the front of his shirt, and he saw traces of frosting around his mouth.

"Is it Betty Crocker or Duncan Hines?" asked Erik flatly.

Peter licked the corner of his mouth.

"Definitely Duncan Hines," Peter said, "You know, I got bored once growing up, and I actually ate it without adding water or baking it?"

"So...just the flour, sugar and baking powder?"

"Yeah," Peter said, flopping down next to him and sliding the plates on the table, "Totally gross. I think I barfed that night. Want some?"

Erik sighed, but took a slice anyway. Peter had been kind enough to balance a metal fork from the kitchen on the plate, which presented something of a more appealing prospect than merely eating with his hands. Not that he expected a culinary masterpiece from boxed cake.

And he didn't receive one. It tasted packaged even before he took a bite. He swallowed, wondering just why there was so much frosting. Was it something Kevin liked, frosting? He'd thought Moira and Charles wouldn't want him too hyped up on sugar.

"So, who are the other slices for?" he asked.

"Oh, Kurt and Raven and me," said Peter, "I didn't know if she'd want some, but she's like Kurt's shadow right now, so I figured it'd be rude if I didn't offer any."

Erik tilted his head in agreement, then took another bite.

"Hank says Kurt's almost healed up," said Peter, "And that's great, because it'd be great to get the other half of Team Lightning back."

"Team Lightning?" asked Erik.

"That's what I'm calling us now," Peter said, "We're both really fast, right? Well, he's not, but he can just keep teleporting everywhere. Together, we're lightning."

"That's..." Erik said.

"Stupid? Cheesy?" suggested Peter, "Already heard it, but I like it."

He grinned and grabbed another slice of cake, shovelling it in at a pace that, while it would've shocked most people, was only a fraction of the speed he could go. The fact that Peter wasn't using any utensils probably would've shocked his mother, or at least resulted in Charles telling him to slow down.

They weren't there though, and Erik didn't see the harm in it. Peter was a bit much, and still incredibly immature, but it was plain to see the potential Charles saw in him. There was something almost infectious about his sense of fun and cheer. Children reacted well to it, and he won over his peers easily. It didn't work so well on people like him and Logan, but it was still there. Done right, it could even be translated into leadership qualities, a way to manipulate others.

But that wasn't who Peter was. He was utterly guileless, despite what he'd seen as an X-man. There was a temper there, of course there was, but it was something sparked by a perception and an honest to God belief in fair play. Peter was a boy whose name seemed to have been given to him by a mother who recognized he'd never truly grow up.

It made it more puzzling that he seemed to like him. Sometimes he wanted to ask him if he knew who he was because, ever since his arrival, not a day had gone by without Peter trying to have a conversation. It wasn't the kind of "Hi and Bye" situation common to so many either. No, Peter actually wanted to talk.

"So, whatcha working on?" Peter asked, sucking on his fingers.

"Just looking at some information from the Yashida Corporation," he said.

"Oh yeah, the tech place," said Peter, leaning over.

A few crumbs sprinkled onto the papers from his shirt. Erik sighed and brushed them away. Peter gave him a sheepish grin, then cocked his head.

"So, what did you find?" he asked.

"On the outside, it looks like, after he fought in the war, Ichiro Yashida used some money he'd inherited from his father to start a technological empire," said Erik.

"So...former soldier?" Peter asked.

Erik snorted. While the Japanese didn't have anything to do with the camps where he had endured torture and misery, they had allied themselves with those who did. Peter gave him a side glance, and then moved around some of the papers.

"So...one son, one granddaughter?" Peter asked.

"And one adopted mutant pet for that granddaughter," said Erik.

"What the hell?" Peter asked, withdrawing his hand from the papers as though he'd been scalded.

"I thought you'd say that," Erik said, "Although I think the term they use is sister, but it appears like she is treated as more of a companion for the girl. There are some other things though..."

He shook his head.

"It appears mutants have always held a kind of fascination for Yashida," said Erik, "Some of his technological advances have been geared toward using their powers. It's always looked like just an odd curiosity, but, with the link to Essex-"

"-and him moving his stuff there-" Peter said.

"-then I think we'll need to pay him a visit," finished Erik, "But not on his normal stomping grounds. He has something of a black facility just outside the village where he grew up."

"How'd you find that out?" asked Peter.

Erik rubbed his chin.

"I have some contacts Charles wouldn't dream of using," he said, "For all of his righteousness, Charles needs someone like me on this, and he knew he needed me."

"That wasn't totally gloom and doom," Peter said, "But we gotta look into him. But...does that mean we have a field trip?"

His grin shown like a new penny someone had left lying in the sun.

"If you want to call it that," Erik said, slicing away another bit of cake with his fork, "But I'd recommend a covert action, or at least as much as we can, perhaps only two or three people. Essex and Stryker haven't reported our engagements yet because I think they want to keep in the shadows as much as possible. Yashida might not have those concerns."

"How do ya figure?"

"Because if they had, we'd be dealing with tanks at the school," said Erik, bringing the cake to his lips.

"Which you'd make short work of," Peter pointed out.

The fork stopped, the cake crumbs just brushing his lips. Peter shrugged.

"Just saying," he said, "They'd have to be pretty stupid if they did. I mean, you know."

He cleared his throat, putting on a deep, pompous voice.

"'Hey boys, looks like the other side has a guy who controls metal!" he said, "Let's go send giant metal machines to bring him in!"

He snorted.

"Brilliant freakin plan."

"Never stopped them before," Erik said, amused, "And, granted, I'm not routinely on the same side as Charles, as you may recall."

"But you are now."

Erik sighed, and put down his fork. While he could tell Peter, for once in his life, wasn't trying to be argumentative or difficult, he really did need to stop this.

"And I might not be after all this is over," Erik said, "He knows that just as well as I, and it's his decision, not mine."

The words were more bitter than he'd initially intended, bu the had difficulty saying it any other way. He'd been the one who had asked Charles to come with him, imploring him to see reason. Charles hadn't, and their lives had taken them in different directions.

Erik would never hesitate to help Charles when his family was threatened, when a madman was trying to steal his child, and when that same madman was experimenting on mutants. But they would have differences. Erik had tried doing things like Charles, would have lived his life that way, but it had resulted in him burying his wife and daughter.

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said, "But he reached out to you for help. He wanted your help, you specifically. I'm sure he probably knows other people who might have contacts, like Raven. That doesn't sound like something you'd ask of an enemy."

"I never said it was a normal friendship," said Erik.

Peter looked at him a minute longer.

"So, lemme...just, okay," he said, "Right now, living in his home, helping him take care of his wife, his kids, that doesn't make you wanna put whatever this is behind you? I mean, he trusts you."

A headache was starting, and Erik wished he'd never brought up the topic.

"Charles knows I wouldn't harm children," he said.

"He's also trusting you to be in his school, with his students," Peter said sharply, "That's not just a 'he won't harm kids.' The Professor cares about this place, and don't think inviting you didn't cause some people to question his judgement, coz it did. Big time."

He narrowed his eyes at the boy. Peter might not have specified the names, but he had a feeling, from the way he was acting, at least one protester had been Hank.

"You shouldn't talk about things you don't understand," Erik warned.

Peter looked back at him blankly. It was frustrating, but Erik couldn't see any fear there. Maybe there was some defiance: he was clearly digging his heels in. The idea of Peter being frightened of him wasn't a good one, but he wasn't even intimidated.

It would be impressive if it wasn't so irritating. Fear, at least, would've made him back down.

"You don't need to be a Hank-level genius to figure this one out," Peter said, "I'm just trying ta say you don't hafta go when all this is over. You could stay."

"And be a teacher?" asked Erik derisively.

"If I'm teaching material, anyone is," Peter said cockily.

Erik snorted.

"This isn't really your business," he said.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" asked Peter, "Look, I'm just saying you can do things a different way. This place isn't bad as a home. Sure you hafta use communal bathrooms sometimes, but-"

"You're missing the point," snapped Erik, "I have lived here Peter, and I have lived outside these walls, can tell you that the rest of the world isn't as forgiving. I've tried it my way, and I've tried it Charles's way. I can say that trying it his way was a mistake."

Peter looked at him, a tinge of anger clouding his blank look.

"So...your wife and daughter were a mistake?" he asked.

Erik stared. The fork on his plate started dancing against the plastic, skittering and clattering.

"Because I assume that's what you're talking about, right?" Peter asked, "Given that, you know, the Professor has a wife and kid now, and I guess that's what you're alluding to-"

"Get. Out."

"That's what you're saying! You're saying they're a mistake!" snapped Peter, "And that's not fair! I mean, it was shit what happened, I get that. And maybe you only had them for a few years, but you still had them, and that's more than some-"

"Get out!" Erik roared.

The fork flew from his plate and embedded itself in the wall. While its final destination wasn't anywhere near Peter, it was enough to make him turn. He expected to see fear now, but the boy only narrowed his eyes.

"Fine," he said, "Fine!"

The air stirred, and Peter was gone. So were the remaining slices of cake, down to the crumbs.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt scratched at his bandages irritably. Raven sighed and rolled her eyes.

"You need to stop doing that," she said, "You're going to pull a stitch."

"Nein," Kurt said, "My stitches are out. You cannot fool me."

She rolled her eyes again and sat down on the edge of his bed.

"I can't believe I'm asking this," she said, "But have you been keeping up with your physical therapy?"

"Ja."

"Even the ones with the ankle bands?" asked Raven, "I know you hate those, and you can't lie to me."

Kurt gave her an innocent look, but his tail twitched.

"I knew it!" she said.

"Zey are uncomfortable," Kurt complained.

"Yeah, they are," said Raven, "Know what else is uncomfortable? Cramps and pulled muscles. And that is what you're going to have for your first training session if you don't keep up your exercises."

He crossed his arms and pouted, but she could see his lips curling up in a suppressed smile. It lined up perfectly with his elfish ears, pointed at the tips. His fangs gleamed white as they pulled awkwardly over his lips.

Not that it would get him out of trouble.

"So don't get ahead of yourself," she said, "When Hank clears you, and I know it's going to be soon, I think you need to start slow, probably with smaller teleportations."

"Small teleportations?" asked Kurt, "Like...only five or six at a time?"

"We'll start with one," said Raven, "You're no good if you rip out all of Hank's hard work. He wouldn't like that, I can assure you of that."

"Ja ja mutti," he said.

His smile widened as he spoke, and Raven blinked. She knew enough German to understand that "Mutti" was the word for "Mama."

"Rather childish to for someone your age to say that."

The words came out before she could think them through. She saw Kurt duck his head, a purplish blush staining his face. Whatever joy had glowed in his eyes was now dampened by embarrassment. She bit her lip and let out a long sigh.

Sometimes, even after five months, it was difficult to know what to say to him. It had been a long time since she'd been careful with anyone. She'd spent so much time being frightened of him, of what she would do to his life, that she hadn't dared to spend so much time with him. Now, it seemed like every day was spent discovering something new about him.

Yes, he did irritate her at times. He was eager to know everything about her life, even the parts she was loathe to share with him. Kurt was still too innocent to know everything, and his complete inability to stay still drove her to distraction at times.

All the same, there were moments when Raven wanted to reach out and pinch his nose, something, make sure that he was actually real. The fact alone that he'd accepted her and wanted to call her any appellation of mother should have filled her with joy.

Instead, it was just difficult at times. Difficult to say the right thing, to want to say the right thing, to know how to act. She breathed in deeply, and then touched his wrist lightly. He looked up at her, his eyes still embarrassed.

"I think mom might work though," she ventured.

He grinned tentatively, his teeth showing brightly over his dark lips. The air stirred, and Raven sighed.

"Peter, knock or something," she said, turning around.

A set of angry eyes met hers, as did the sight of two plates of cake. Peter's entire face was drawn up, like he was struggling to keep from picking something up and throwing it across the room. Raven had seen that look on Erik's face enough to recognize it on his son.

"Cake," he said, "Have fun."

"Peter!" Kurt said, "Vait a minute!"

Peter sighed, sounding frustrated, and turned. Kurt shrank back for a moment, and a more cautious smile took its place.

"Hank says I can have a practice session soon," he said, "Blitz Mannschaft vill be back!"

For a moment, Peter just looked at him, then started laughing. Raven lipped the words in her head. Team lightning?

"Dude, say it in English!" Peter said.

A grin consumed Peter's features, although Raven could still see traces of anger there. They were fading though, or at least being pushed back. Perhaps that was the difference between him and his father: when everything was said and done, Peter could calm down. She wasn't sure Erik had learned how to yet.

Not for them at least.

"I haf trouble with second syllable," Kurt said.

"We'll work on it," said Peter, "Also, that cake is damn good."

He gave a mocking salute before he zipped off. Raven looked after him thoughtfully, wondering just what had happened to put that expression on his face in the first place. It had to be something bad to put him in such a foul mood, especially on a day with a party, and Kevin's party at that.

"Mutter?" asked Kurt, "Can you pass me cake?"

She nodded and got up, handing him one of the slices of cake. One thing at a time. One thing at a time.

* * *

Kevin ripped open the wrapping paper. Inside was a collection of all of Jane Austen's works.

"Thanks Laura!" he said, smiling, "This is awesome!"

She bit her lip and looked down, grabbing her ankles. It wasn't an easy task, given that she was in a chair, but she still managed it. She didn't look upset though, so he thought she was fine. Maybe she was just shy about being thanked?

Like many things Laura did that were slightly unusual, he shrugged it off. Friends did that. He looked back at the book, flipping through the gold edged pages. While the library had the whole collection, having his own set was special. No one would need to check it out for a term paper.

He put it next to his other gifts, a video game from Sam, an arts and crafts kit from Xi'an, and comic books from Megan. He'd gotten some pretty cool baseball cards in the mail from Uncle Levine that morning, and Peter promised him he'd find a way to make sure he had enough Little Debbie cakes for weeks. He wasn't sure about how that last one would work, but he trusted Peter.

All in all, it had been a great birthday for presents. It had also been a great birthday for running around. He'd found everyone, and he hadn't even had to use his powers. No one had seen him squeeze behind the bookcase and the wall when it was his turn to hide, although his mother hadn't been pleased about that last one.

He took another bite of cake, the string of his party hat constricting his throat slightly. Everyone else was still wearing theirs though, and he didn't want to be the first one to take it off.

"Kevin," his mother said.

She put a hand on the back of his chair.

"You haven't opened your gift from your father and I," she said.

Kevin swallowed his cake and turned around. He could've sworn that he'd opened up all the presents. However, he saw that there was another box that had appeared on the floor. He shifted slightly in his chair and concentrated.

The present levitated to the table. It was heavy, which he thought was great. When he brought it to the table, it made a solid thunk on the surface. Kevin looked up at his parents, who were both giving him kind, almost excited looks.

"Go ahead and open it," his father said, "I'm not going to tell you what it is."

He twisted his fingers into the paper and ripped it off. The top of the box was high, so he stood on top of his chair to boost himself up. Kevin took off the lid and pulled away a level of tissue paper, flinging it onto the floor.

A crisp baseball shirt looked back at him, complete with a cap, bat, glove and ball. It was all new, the bat gleaming. He picked it up, feeling the heft in his hands. Kevin remembered the first time he'd took to the field, his mother cheering for him in the bleachers. Joe had been somewhere, getting something. Hot dogs maybe. He'd never come back, but it didn't matter. His mother had been on her feet when he took his first two bases, and later made it home.

He took off his party hat, throwing it in the same place as the tissue paper. Kevin pulled out the baseball shirt and yanked it over his head. It was a bit tight over the shirt he was already wearing, but by the time he registered that he was already putting on his baseball cap.

As he reached for the glove, he felt something underneath the tissue paper. He pulled it away and found four more gloves. He blinked at them for a minute, wondering why his parents had given him extras.

Then, he realized how many other children there were at the party.

"We're gonna play baseball!" Kevin said.

There were a few cheers, as well as a few confused looks. Regardless, he gathered up the box and jumped off the table. With his spare hand, he made a gesture for everyone to follow him.

 _Mom! Dad! You guys are the best!_

They both smiled at him as he ran past, the gloves clattering around in the box. Everyone else followed him, and Kevin started laughing. Best birthday ever.

* * *

"The extra gloves were a really good idea," Moira said.

Charles smiled, transferring himself from his chair to the couch. It wasn't a difficult task, although it always required a little extra maneuvering. Moira had been helping him until lately when her swollen belly had stopped her. He knew she regretted it, but no less than he'd regretted not being fast enough to help her when she was still caught in the throes of morning sickness.

She sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead, absently wrapping a hand around her stomach.

"How are you feeling love?" he asked, "Tired?"

"You are too," she yawned, "You were the one in charge of five hyperactive kids all afternoon."

"I told you, it's nothing compared to what I'd been doing for years," Charles reminded her, "And...well...one of them's my son."

Although he'd been using the term for months now, he could feel a thrum of silent warmth as he did so. He'd been surprised at how quickly the bond had formed between himself and Moira's son, but that didn't make him grateful for it.

That the child had been so happy and accepting to have a father figure come into his life that it had broken Charles's heart. There were times when, for so many reasons, Charles was tempted to get into Cerebro, find Joe in his prison cell and, in the very least, give him enough migraines for a month.

He hadn't yet, but, sometimes, when he ran his hand over the scar near Moira's collarbone, the part of him that hadn't quite learned to let go wanted to. That, and every time Kevin had ever looked at something he'd done as a father with wonder. They were always little things, things a father should've always wanted to do with his son.

However, even though the reason was painful, Charles was flattered beyond words that Kevin had wanted him. Moira had been the first one to accept all of him, the first one to say that he was enough, to only want his love. Her son, their son, had that same wholehearted approach.

A small tremor shook his hand. He smiled, the last part to his joy giving him a sharp reminder of its presence, followed by several more.

"Oh boy," Moira said, "He's kicking up a storm."

She closed her eyes and put a hand on her mouth.

"I think the cake's coming back up," Moira said.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll see what I can do."

He closed his eyes, concentrating, but not applying too much pressure. A feeling, like a faint flutter of excitement, greeted him.

 _Hello little one_ , he said, _You should stop kicking for now. Your mother's not feeling well._

There was another flutter, a little worried, followed by a wave of intense, pure love, and a little apology. He felt the kicks stop beneath his hand.

 _Thank you, and don't worry,_ Charles said, _She loves you you know._

Slight confusion touched his mind, wondering why he was saying something he already knew. Charles chuckled.

 _We all do,_ he said.

Again, that same quiet, assured feeling, less worried and more confident. Charles kissed Moira's head again, letting his son's contentment wash over him.


	5. Chapter 5

"How did I let you talk me into this?"

"Please, just be patient," Hank said, turning the steering wheel and giving her what he probably thought was an appeasing smile, "It'll only take an hour, tops."

Moira folded her arms over her chest as the landscape whizzed by outside.

"Hank, I told Charles I was going to the grocery store," she said, "He's not stupid. He knows I won't need to be there for an hour."

"You were a CIA agent," Hank said, still giving that almost desperate smile, "You...I don't know, ran into a friend, or something."

She gave him a look. Hank shrugged, then immediately looked back to the road.

"That's a terrible lie, given that I don't know anyone here," she said, "And Hank, I don't like lying to my husband, especially not about going to the hospital when everything's fine."

Hank turned, his hands still tightly on the wheel. She didn't know if that was because he was nervous around her because of how irritated she was, or if he wasn't used to driving. Either way, she should've at least been the one driving. He could've given her directions.

Charles, however, had asked that Hank at least drive for her because he thought the brakes and gas pedal might give her pained feet cramps. It was such a sweet thought that she'd relented, but at the moment driving might have calmed her down.

"You could've told him you know," Hank said, "You know you could."

"He'd worry," said Moira, "He's already..."

She put her hands on her stomach, and received an answering kick. The baby kicked often, although she'd noticed that, ever since Kevin's birthday, he'd stopped when she was ill. It was a small thing, and perhaps she was putting too much thought into it. It had been less than 24 hours since the party.

"He's already talking to the baby," she said, "He passes little messages along and..."

Moira shook her head.

"And after everything, he just worries so much," she said, "I don't want to worry him any more if I can help it Hank. Not unless I know something's wrong."

Hank gave her a small smile.

"Look...it's probably nothing," he said, "I mean, the blood pressure machine is a little old, and you were a little on the high side. But I want to be careful, alright? I know I'm kind of...bad at this sort of thing-"

"Dealing with pregnant women?" she asked.

He shrugged, although that slightly desperate smile was back.

"No, I mean taking care of people," he said.

"Hank, you're a doctor," she said.

"Trust me, I know," he said, "I just...inside the operating room, I know I can fix people. I know that I can make them better. But...outside of stitching up the wounds, assigning therapy, making things like Scott's goggles..."

He sighed, taking another turn.

"Not so great," Hank said, "Last time I tried to deal with someone going through depression...it didn't go so well."

She shifted her hands on her stomach, feeling a small kick again. Charles had told her about a period of his life where he'd been sunk in bottles and the ability to walk. He'd mourned the loss of Raven, of Erik, of her, and she knew he regretted dragging Hank down with him.

Charles had even, one night, told her his thoughts about suicide. But thinking about Hank, alone in the house, calling the police, having to plod through funeral arrangements, had been too much. She'd held him close that night, unable to picture a world where he remained forgotten, the love of her life lost to the mists of time and death.

The fact that Hank saw it the opposite way did hurt, but it said something very strong about the two men. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his arm.

"You did the best you could," she said, "And you...you stayed. No one else did. He held on because of you. Try to remember that."

Hank cleared his throat. One of his hands briefly left his face before he reached up and adjusted his glasses.

"Charles is talking to the baby?"

Moira took her hand away, hoping she'd made an impact. In a way they were all damaged, every surviving member of the First Class. Moira's wounds had been healed by a distance she'd never known existed, and a life forced apart from the people she could've clung to. Her pain had been forgotten, and remembered when it was too far away to scar her life. All in all, those wounds weren't that deep, not compared to the ones that had come after.

But they had healed for her, she recognized that. She might hold scar tissue from what had happened with Joe, but she had her son, soon to be sons. She had Charles, and she was doing what she wanted to do ever since she first realized evolution was shifting. Whether at the CIA or Westchester, she was helping mutants.

Hank's wounds, Erik's, Raven's, and, as painful as it was to realize, Charles's wounds ran far deeper than hers. They'd faced more persecution, more tragedy as they traveled their paths. Moira wished she could have traveled it with Charles, easing his burdens and Hank's too. They could have struggled together in Westchester.

She tried to keep her mind in the present now, and to enjoy the good things that were happening in the future. It was time Hank tried that too, but she knew it wasn't something that could be rushed. So she nodded.

"He felt the baby's mind for the first time when he started moving," she said, "And then...as time went on, they started talking. Not in words exactly. Charles said he uses words, and gets feelings back."

"Feelings?" asked Hank.

She smoothed the maternity shirt covering the bump of her stomach.

"The baby switches feelings fairly quickly, but it's a lot of love," said Moira, "He loves me, loves Charles. He's very excited. I think he wants to see us, meet the world."

Hank managed a smile as they turned into the hospital.

"Sounds like your kid," he said.

* * *

Hank sat down in the wait room, nervously fiddling with a magazine. Because of the intimacy of the examination, he'd decided to stay in the waiting room without even being asked. Once it was over, he'd go back in. He wasn't sure if that was necessary, or if any of that would even happen, but he wanted to respect her privacy.

It was all very logical and courteous, but he was still worried, not knowing. The words were running together on the page, not that he'd thought he'd be able to read anything. He'd called the hospital immediately after taking her blood pressure and started to describe the symptoms. They'd told him that, while there was a chance it was just a coincidence, she should come in as soon as possible.

And he might be wrong after all. He wasn't, when everything was said and done, a gynecologist. He'd been taught to set bones and stitch skin, not deliver babies. The only reason he knew this was because of some reading he'd done when first discovering Moira was pregnant. Even then it was only a faint memory, and he could've misread the signs.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. It was almost impossible to see without them in this form, but their weight did get to him at times. Feeling restless, he shifted once or twice before making his decision.

Hank put the magazine back and headed towards the bathrooms and, more importantly, the water fountain. He put his glasses back on as he did so. It'd be a few more minutes until the news came in or he would be called into the room. He wanted some water before then.

He leaned over and turned on the water fountain. He closed his eyes, letting the cool water flow down his throat. He felt parched, although that was probably a very silly feeling. Making a face he turned off the water. His face was close to the cool metal, and it felt good.

Turning the fountain back on and taking another drink, he got up, his eyes still closed. There was no point in stalling anymore. Steeling himself, Hank backed away from the fountain, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As he did he felt someone bump into him.

Hank's eyes flew open, and he saw a woman start to fall, papers scattering, folders, and something else. He couldn't make it out, since his glasses had fallen from his face in the torrent. He could still see her shape though.

Flushing red, he grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet before she hit the ground. The papers scattered everywhere, and she looked a little surprised, but at least she hadn't fallen and broken anything. That was the only thing that could make this more embarrassing, and, knowing his luck, it would happen.

"I am so sorry," he said, "I didn't...I ugh, I wasn't looking where I was going, I am so, so sorry."

The woman cocked her head, although he couldn't make out her expression. Too much of her was a brown and cream blur. He sank down on his knees, searching for his glasses, and hoping he didn't look like he was too much of an idiot.

She moved down with him, her movements careful as she began to pick up her papers. He shuffled some her way as he sought fruitlessly for his glasses.

"Thank you," she said, "For catching me, I mean."

"Least I could do," Hank mumbled, "I ran into you."

"It was probably partly my fault too," she said, "I'm pretty new here, and I keep forgetting there's a water fountain there. You're the first crash I've had, but I've had some close calls."

Finally, his hand found his glasses. He put them on, and blinked once. Soft brown hair fell down the woman's shoulders, framing a lovely oval face. Her lips were forming into a half smile, shining with gloss. Her skin wasn't flushed. Everything was projecting a serene countenance only tinged with embarrassment.

She was also wearing dark glasses and, now that Hank could see better, he realized that one of the things that had fallen was a cane. He'd just bumped into a blind woman and almost knocked her to the ground.

Although he'd thought it impossible, his face grew even hotter.

"Yeah, but it was my fault more," he said.

"Because I'm blind?" she asked.

The question was frank, without an edge, but he could almost hear the accompanying sigh. But, while her blindness did add another shade of embarrassment to the situation, that wasn't the reason.

"I backed away from the water fountain," he said, "I was thinking about...well...things."

She paused for a moment then smiled.

"I'll bet," she said brightly, "Expectant father?"

"Huh?" he spluttered.

"We're in the maternity ward, right?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah, of course," said Hank, "But not me. No. I'm not, she's not, we're not."

He was stammering, and he looked down, trying not to look at the kind smile she was giving him. Instead, he gathered the last papers and tried to calm down.

"But I'm not, my friend, she's pregnant. I gave her a ride," he said, "She wasn't feeling well, and you know. She's around eight months."

"I understand," the woman said.

He handed her the papers, and she grasped her cane. Her other hand was thumbing through the papers.

"That's all of them, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Hank said.

He got up and, although he hesitated, ultimately he swallowed down his nervousness in favor of doing the polite thing.

"Lemme help you up," he said, "I knocked you down in the first place."

She laughed, but held out her hand anyway. Hank felt her small, twig-like fingers twist with his, and he started blushing again. It was a quick moment though, since she was up so fast. Everything about her seemed graceful, and he knew that, if he hadn't bumped into her, she would've never bumped into him.

Hank let go of her hand quickly.

"Sorry again, uh..." he said.

He looked at her name tag.

"Miss Crocker?" he said.

"You can use the first name you know," she said, "Everyone just calls me Carly."

"Hank," he said before he could think, "Hank McCoy."

She smiled again.

"Now we're properly introduced," she said.

He smiled nervously and licked his lips. God, after drinking that much water he'd have thought his throat wouldn't be this dry. A door opened, and footsteps entered the hall. A doctor looked around, finally spying him.

"Hank?" he asked.

"That's me," said Hank.

"You can come in now. The results should be back soon."

"Right," said Hank.

He looked back at Carly, quickly dipping his head.

"Nice meeting you," he said.

"Same," Carly replied.

He dipped his head again before turning around and following the doctor out of the waiting room.


	6. Chapter 6

"What we want is a small strike team to avoid a scene," said Erik, "The last thing we need is the Japanese authorities getting involved."

"Finally wary of causing a scene?" Charles joked.

The look he got in return made his follow-up joke die on his tongue. Erik had been irritable when he'd come in to discuss what he'd discovered about the Yashida Corporation, but that was nothing new. There had been many mornings when his friend had come in with an added tension in his shoulders. It was usually fleeting.

This wasn't.

"How many do you suggest?" asked Charles.

"Four maximum," said Erik, "Obviously I'd put myself on the team. I might raise some international flags on the plane, but I've been pretty good avoiding that so far. Mystique's mutation will be useful, and Logan will gut us if we don't let him go. The man's as subtle as a train wreck, but we might need to wreck trains at one point."

"I can charter a private plane, and we can use Cerebro to make sure no one raises any inconvenient questions at customs," Charles said, "Hank said it's ready for long-term use again. However, I assume the fourth will be Peter."

Erik didn't say anything, just crossed his arms.

"His gift would be useful in a stealth mission," said Charles, his words slowing as he watched his friend, "No one would be able to see him, or catch him for that matter."

"He's too reckless," Erik said, "The power is useful, but there are others with greater responsibility with similar powers. I'd thought of asking to take Kurt instead."

Charles stared at him.

"You're joking, aren't you?" he asked.

"I hear he's healed up," Erik said.

"To the point where he can be left unattended, walk and possibly teleport," said Charles, "But he hasn't been doing any strenuous exercises for five months! Hank's not going to clear him for a trip to Japan, and I'm certainly not going to either."

"Because he's your nephew?" asked Erik.

The tone used was enough to put a dent in even his good mood, buoyed by his son's successful birthday.

"In part, yes," said Charles, "But he's also not fit to be doing field work."

"Should we ask Hank?"

"He'd agree," Charles said, "And I'm not calling him. He's already told me he and Moira are running late, and I won't have him being distracted in the car."

Erik snorted, but Charles plowed on.

"Besides, I'd love to see you suggest this idea to my sister," he said, "Because I think she'd be very far from amused. Besides, Peter and Kurt's gifts aren't exactly the same. Peter is good at infiltrating secure facilities, and he has the most experience doing so outside of everyone we've already mentioned."

The look on his friend's face was rapidly growing more sour.

"Erik, what's wrong?" he said, "I thought you and Peter were getting on well."

His friend clenched one fist, his eyes focused on the wall.

"He's...been indulging in some loose talk," he said at last.

Charles raised his eyebrows.

"Meaning?" he asked.

"He's commenting on things he has no business meddling with," snapped Erik.

His family. Peter had talked about his family. It was the only thing Charles could think of that would turn Erik against someone this quick. Peter, no doubt, felt some sort of right to comment on people who were, in a way, family. However, since Erik was angry about the event, rather than worried or shocked, Peter hadn't divulged who he was.

That needed to change. Perhaps, now that things were more settled with everyone else, Charles needed to sit down and have a talk with Peter. No one's affaris were perfect, but they were all in a place where he could rest easy. It would probably have to be before he went on this mission with Erik, because he wasn't about to let Kurt go. Not with a stomach that was still healing.

"Erik, please understand," Charles tried, "He's young. I don't know what he said, but please keep in mind, he says things as he sees them-"

"He doesn't know anything!" Erik snapped.

There was a knock on the door, and Charles rubbed his head. It opened before he could ask them to wait though, and Moira and Hank stood in the doorway. Hank had turned to look at Erik, but Moira was looking at him, her face strangely blank.

 _Love, I'm glad you're back_ , he said, _But I just need five minutes. Erik and I have to-_

"We need to talk," she said.

Charles stared at her, but Erik gave a terse nod.

 _Moira, I just need_

"The brat's on the team if you insist," he said, "But it's a mistake."

He pushed his way out of the doorway, moving Hank out of the way with his shoulder, but not going near Moira. Hank gave him a frustrated look, and Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. While he hadn't expected their discussion with Peter to go well, he'd hoped it would be longer, maybe plant the seed for something positive.

"I'm sorry about that," Charles said at last, "But I really did just need five more minutes. I-"

A cool hand touched his. He opened his eyes and saw that Moira had sat down in a nearby chair, taking his hands in hers. She took a deep breath as Hank closed the door, and all thoughts of Erik and his son fled.

* * *

Charles looked between the two of them, his face and expression a picture of shocked misery and disbelief.

"They called it pre-eclampsia," Moira said.

It wasn't an explanation, not a good one, but it was all she could manage. The words, she knew, didn't mean anything to Charles. At the same time, he was taking in her tone, her expression as she explained where she'd been this afternoon. She looked down at her hands.

"In the past it's also been referred to as toxemia," said Hank,"It's a...it's not uncommon, but the problem is...they think Moira's a little far along."

His voice was scholarly, but quiet. She saw Charles look at him strangely, his expression sliding further and further away from disbelief.

"No seizures, which is very good," Hank said, "But the baby isn't quite where they would feel comfortable delivering it, which is how this is normally resolved. This has to result in an early delivery though so she doesn't become eclamptic."

"Meaning?" asked Charles.

Hank breathed out slowly.

"If she becomes eclamptic, and it goes untreated, they...they both die," he said.

The look in Charles's eyes was devastating. His hands wrapped around her fingers, clutched them together so tightly. She could see his worry, worry for her, for the baby, a little soul he'd already talked with.

She forced herself to smile, to reassure him, but her throat was sandpaper and her heart was splintering. Her flippant attitude in the car ride to the hospital was gall in her memory. Even being told she had good chances, that they would just need to be very careful, was a gnawing worry.

"They want me to go in for 24-hour observation," she said, "As soon as I'm done getting my things I go back, and that took some convincing."

"That long?" Charles said.

Hank moved forward slightly, perhaps to save her from explaining. She looked at him gratefully, but Charles was already shaking his head, his eyes sad with understanding.

"No, no, of course," Charles said, "That…yes, that's safe. That's good. They'll be there if anything happens, yes."

He swallowed, his fingers starting to move over her hands. Usually his rubbing motions were be soft and smooth, comforting. This time they were disjointed and jerky, like the way her heart was beating and fluttering against her rib cage.

"Until the baby's born," she said.

The motions stopped. He looked at her, his blue eyes desperate.

"It'll be…you…you'll be in danger for that long?" he asked.

"Until the baby's born," Moira repeated.

She swallowed. It was like swallowing rocks.

"They said that it'll be a few weeks more," she said, "There's, well, I, they said they would want to deliver the baby immediately if they could. But...as long as I'm under observation, they want to wait a little longer. Gives the baby…"

The words died. He let go of her hands, instead cupping her face. Charles's hands were cold and clammy. Moira reached up, holding his hands in hers.

"…it gives the baby a better chance," she finished.

Silence hung heavy in the room. Charles continued to look into her eyes, holding her there, and his hands warmed as they touched her cheeks. She swallowed again, still a difficult motion, but one that she could just about manage.

"Then you have to go," said Charles, "We'll…we'll have to be clever, we'll have to be smart, but you need to be where they can take care of you."

 _Because I can't._ The words were unspoken, even in her head, but she could see them in every line on his face. She let go of his hands, touched his face instead. He looked at her fingers, swollen slightly from her pregnancy.

Slowly, Charles turned and kissed her fingers. When he turned back, she could see his despair recede back into a desperate determination.

"You'll need to stay there," he said, "You'll need to stay there for as long as you need to until the baby's born in the safest way possible. And I'll be there, I'll…"

The hands on her face tightened slightly. She could see worry come back to his face, as well as a deep frustration. Moira curled her fingers together, already feeling something flutter deep within herself. It was almost like fear, but more physical. She didn't know if it was the baby, or her own feelings.

Because she knew, even before he spoke, what he was going to say. She might not know the particulars, but she knew what that look meant.

"There's a mission Erik's leading," he murmured, "To Japan. We think Essex is going to be there, or at least a large chunk of his operations."

"You're going to Japan," she said.

Her voice came out flat. Immediately she felt guilty, because she had tried to be calm, understanding. Instead, whatever he heard in her voice made him grip her face tighter, although not to the point of pain.

"No love, I'm not," he said, "And I would certainly never leave the country with what you told me. It's just…I'll be needed as a link to Westchester."

"You'll need to be in Cerebro," she said.

This time, her voice came out much calmer.

"I…I also need to be with you," he said, "You and our baby. You can't go to the hospital alone, not so far away without anyone. I don't know how closely Essex is watching us, and I don't know for sure he's in Japan.

 _And he wants our baby_. Again, the words were unspoken, but they didn't need to be. She drew herself up, the numbness she'd felt since hearing the news receding. Yes, she needed Charles with her. But Essex and Stryker wouldn't be taking a break just because of the situation. They wouldn't be quitting because she wanted her husband near her during her birth.

But the bottom line was that she needed the medical attention, and Charles needed to be where there was easy access to Cerebro, not an hour away at the hospital. She also wasn't sure if Kevin would be allowed to stay with her in the hospital because of his age.

Moira had no idea how much pain Kevin would experience when he heard the news. He was excited about being an older brother. Hearing that he might lose that brother and quite possibly his mother too after everything he'd already gone through could be devastating. He would need Charles to be his rock while she was stuck in the hospital.

"I can go with her," Hank said.

They both turned their heads slightly. Hank had taken off his glasses, awkwardly polishing them as he stared at the floor.

"I'm one of the senior team members," he said, "I'm not a gynecologist, but I know enough medical terminology to make sure Essex doesn't try and embed anyone if he finds out what's going on. I can ask the right questions, and I can get her out if need be."

He put his glasses on, but continued to stare at the floor. It was, she realized, an attempt to give them some privacy.

"My presence won't be missed by those not in the know at the school," he said, "I have a preexisting condition, remember? No one will really remark if I go to teh hospital. Do what you need to do Charles, and I'll take care of things until you can take my place."

Charles turned from Hank and looked at her, his eyes full of desperate pleading. She swallowed, this time a little easier, and then nodded.

"You stay here Charles," she said, "Come and visit me when you can, but be where you need to be for the missions. Keep our world safe, and take care of Kevin."

She leaned in and kissed him softly on his lips.

"I'll take care of the baby," she said.


	7. Chapter 7

Kevin watched as the items went into the suitcase, one at a time. The top layer of his mother's blouse drawer was in his hands. He'd been trying to help her pack, but the sight of the suitcase slowly being loaded up was too much.

Yes, he knew she didn't work at the CIA anymore. Yes, she was only going an hour or so away, and this time she really did need to go. The doctors, they'd told him, would be able to keep her and his little brother safe. It would be good for her to go.

But his hands were sweating, and he felt like he was going to start crying. He didn't want her to go away again. He wanted her to be able to stay here, where he could see her every single day. That way, he'd know everything was fine every time he woke up.

His mother turned, her face stressed and tired. Wordlessly, he handed her the blouses. She looked at him before throwing them into the suitcase and turning away from it. She sat with some difficulty on the edge of the bed.

He knew it meant she wanted to talk to him. Whenever she wanted to talk to him about something, really talk, she would try to get eye level with him. Kevin took a deep breath, moving a little closer to her.

Every minute he could feel a fresh wave of panic threatening to overwhelm him. The last time she'd been away for so long, some crazy person they were still fighting even now had taken her for a month.

"Kevin, I know the past year hasn't exactly been easy on you," she said, "And I...I'd hoped the baby would be a simple affair. I've wanted to give you a brother or sister for a while, every since I saw how much you wanted one, but..."

Words welled up in his throat, and he clenched his hands into fists.

"I'm glad you waited," he said, "He would've just hurt them. He would've made them mean."

He shook his head, not looking at her.

"You wanted them to have a good father," said Kevin, "And the last one was terrible. It's okay. I get it."

She cocked her head, and then sighed. One of her hands reached out and cupped his cheek.

"Every day I look at you, and I know that there's nothing of him in you," she said, "You know that too though, don't you?"

Kevin nodded, but he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. Some part of him wanted to tell her about the broken ribs because it was a lie not telling her, and he shouldn't do that. He'd managed to tell his father, but that had been back when his father had just been Charles. He hadn't been the one who'd worked so hard to protect him, had thought they'd succeeded.

But she was tired, and things just weren't safe for her or the baby. He didn't want to hurt her when she was so hurt already. There was something he wanted to know though.

"Am I...?" he started.

She looked at him, waiting, but, yet again, he couldn't quite get the words out. He swallowed, and then looked down.

"Am I like my father?" he asked, "So that, when the baby's born, we'll both be like our dad?"

His mother took him in her arms, holding him as close as she could.

"Yes," she said, "Yes you are. And I know he feels that way too."

He shoved away tears with the palm of his hand, moving so he could just about wrap his arms around his mother. They didn't go all the way around anymore, but it was good enough.

"And I'm like you too right?" he asked.

Her hand gripped his hair almost to where it hurt.

"You are my son in every way," she said fiercely, "And you will be an amazing older brother."

Kevin's eyes closed, and the tears slid down his cheeks.

"Promise to visit me as much as you can?" she asked.

He nodded, trying to keep as much together as he could. There was a knock on the door, and Kevin let go, again shoving away at the tears. He stayed close though, seated next to his mother, wondering how much time he had left with her.

"Come in!" she called.

The door opened and his father was in. He looked at the two of them, his eyes concerned.

"Do I...is everything alright?" he asked.

"As much as it can be," his mother said.

His father wheeled himself closer, again looking at the two of them. Tentatively, he reached out to Kevin and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It should be quite safe," he said, "I'm told it's not a terribly uncommon condition, and there are treatments for it. You'll just be getting your brother a little earlier than we thought."

For the first time, his father's reassurance didn't sound very reassuring. It sounded instead like he was trying to reassure himself too. He must have realized how little effect his words were having though, because he immediately straightened and took Kevin's hand.

"Kevin, I want you to know that we are going to do everything possible to make sure everything will be fine," he said, "And I think that goes for your brother too. He's quite excited to meet you."

"He doesn't know who I am," Kevin said, "I know you're talking to him, but...not me."

His father smiled slowly, and then put Kevin's hand on his mother's stomach. Kevin's mother gave him a questioning look, but his father's smile just became more gentle. Kevin wished he knew what they were saying to each other in their heads, because that's what it looked like.

"Let's introduce you then," his father said.

Kevin's heart leaped, and he looked nervously at his mother's stomach.

"I don't know how," he said.

"Just use a soft touch, and I'll guide you," his father said, "Let him know who you are. He'll love you for it."

For a moment more, Kevin hesitated. He didn't know if his gift was strong enough for this. But it might be the last time they were all together like this for a long time. He might not be able to hear his brother's thoughts for weeks and weeks.

So he bit his lip and nodded.

"Good," his father said, "Now, just reach out like you're going to brush your mother's mind, and then I'll help."

Kevin exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and reached out. There was a feeling like fingertips slowly pushing him another direction, and then he felt something warm. There was a flutter of excitement, followed by confusion and curiosity. They were such pure, steady emotions that Kevin almost pulled back.

 _Don't worry,_ his father said, _Just be calm, and let him know who you are._

His throat felt dry. He was glad he wasn't talking for real, because otherwise he didn't know if he'd be able to get the words through his lips.

 _Hi,_ he said, _I um...I'm..._

Again, that flutter of confusion.

 _I'm your brother,_ Kevin said.

This time the curiosity came through much stronger, with a thick undercurrent of excitement. The confusion was dropping away.

 _I'm family,_ he tried.

A second or two went by, and there was nothing. Had he lost the connection? He was just about to ask his father, when there was a burst of pure excitement, followed by an almost overwhelming wave of love and joy.

If he were standing, he would have stumbled. But he was just seated, so he felt his head jerk in surprise. Something kicked out against his hand. More love came, excitement. All the baby knew was that Kevin was his family, and he was already dancing.

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and thought again of the last time his mother had gone away. He'd heard enough to know that the person who took her was still a threat, something about being interested in his baby brother.

That part confused him, but if that guy was interested in his baby brother, he'd have to get in line. Kevin was interested in him too, and he had a much bigger claim. You protected family, like his father had rescued his mother, like his mother had done when she'd taken him away from Joe. She was doing it now too for his brother, but she wasn't fleeing from anyone. Instead, she just had to go to the hospital.

He leaned in closer.

 _I love you,_ he said, _And I'm gonna take care of you as much as I can, okay? Protect you. Because you're my brother._

There was more love and an answering kick. Kevin cried again and, this time, he didn't bother to wipe away the tears.

* * *

Logan was finishing his cigar when he saw the small party start to load up the car. He leaned up against the side of the wall, watching the way the three of them stayed close together. Hank was due to come out at any moment from their murmured words. He'd been briefly told of the situation about the same time he'd been told of the upcoming mission to Japan.

Truthfully, after he'd been told they had a solid lead on Essex's possible new base of operations, he hadn't thought too much about the rest. He couldn't say he knew the entire family very well, even after five months, but they'd been welcoming and friendly. They'd helped rescue Laura and Emma from Essex, with Moira personally escorting them out. Seemed like a damn shame to have this happen to them.

He took a last puff and, even through the smoke, he smelt Laura in the entryway of the school. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her peeping through a window. Logan flicked the cigar on the ground and crushed it with his heel.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked into the school. Laura, wearing a pair of striped overalls, was still staring out the window. She looked at him briefly before turning back, her expression worried.

"I heard something was wrong with the baby," she said.

"Yeah," Logan said.

He crouched down so he was seated next to her.

"Is it bad?" asked Laura, "Because Kevin looks awful sad. He doesn't usually look that sad. Usually he gives pretty smiles."

Logan looked out the window again. The boy did look sad, which probably spoke as much to his head as to his heart. He knew things might go pretty bad, although they had treatments. That possibility was nagging though, and this wasn't going to be easy.

Kevin seemed like a good kid, and he'd been keeping a close eye on him since Emma told him Laura might have a crush on the boy. Besides his desire to read classic British literature, he seemed like a well-rounded American kid. He'd gotten baseball stuff for his birthday for Chrissake.

It was clear that his parents had chosen not to lie to him. He knew he could tell Laura something sweet and comforting, but he didn't see much point. If Kevin talked about it, he'd probably tell the truth, and Logan wasn't going to deal with the kid contradicting him.

"Could be," said Logan, "But that's why she's goin to the hospital. They're gonna take care of her."

Laura nodded as the suitcase was loaded into the car. Hank came around the side of the school and put his own suitcase in the trunk.

"Are they all going?" she asked.

"For now, yeah," Logan replied, "But most of em, like Kevin, will come back. Visitor policy at the hospital, somethin like that."

"Oh," Laura said.

She put her hands on the glass of the window.

"She'll be fine, I think," Laura said, "She's strong. Everyone here is strong. Strong and tough. They have to be, because so much terrible stuff happens to them."

Logan startled and stared at his daughter. She was still looking out the window, her lower lip trembling slightly.

"I don't think I'm very tough," she said, "But Kevin's family is, so they'll be fine."

One of Logan's hands curled into a fist. The other slowly pulled Laura into a one-armed hug.

"You're plenty tough," he murmured, "Don't forget that."

"...okay."

Outside, the car started up. Laura's eyes followed it as it pulled out of the driveway.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?" he asked.

She snuggled her face in to the crook of his arm.

"I hope she and the baby are okay," Laura said.

He sighed.

"Me too kid."


	8. Chapter 8

Emma looked carefully at Logan as he explained the mission. Laura was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. When she came back, Emma would have the unenviable task of helping Logan explain that he was going to be gone for the next week possibly fighting the man who'd experimented on her while looking for her mother.

She picked at her nails in the empty bedroom. Amanda and Megan had been kind enough to leave the room while they talked. They'd been very understanding of the whole situation, but she supposed they had their own fish to fry too. With Kurt's near-fatal injury, and the sudden revelation of who his mother was, Amanda truly did have a full plate.

"No chance they'll let me go with you, is there?" asked Emma.

"No," Logan said, "Emma, gotta tell ya, you're still not in good shape for this kinda thing."

She nodded and stopped picking at her nails. She turned over her hand, staring at the still-thin fingers, the way her flesh and skin clung fearfully to her bones. Six months had passed since she'd been freed from Essex's clutches, but after years of malnutrition and little exercise, she still hadn't recovered.

Even though she desperately wanted to help, she was practical. Her powers could only compensate for so much. It appeared that, as a final parting gift, Essex had taken away her ability to truly be useful in the search for her sister.

Emma clutched her fingers together as a thought struck her.

"Jean doesn't get to go, does she?"

The question seemed to startle Logan.

"Because I don't trust her to go rummaging around in Kayla's head," said Emma, "If you need someone to do that, get the Professor."

"Kid, calm down," Logan said, putting out his hand, "Coupla things wrong with that. We don't even...we don't even know if Kayla's gonna be there for starters."

He sounded reluctant, and Emma gave him a look. Kayla was Essex's prize now, an fighter he had full control over. She was loved and treasured by two of his enemies, the ones who held a child he still believed belonged to him.

"The other thing," he said, "What she's got goin on isn't in her head as much as it's happenin on a chemical level. And Jean's not comin."

Emma relaxed, letting out a long breath.

"But it kinda worries me how much you hate her," Logan said.

She snorted.

"Don't tell me you buy her innocent act," she said.

"Hafta admit, if it's an act, it's a good one," he replied, "And she's the one who started settin my mind to right. So yeah, I kinda think she's a good kid."

Emma looked away. While Logan had explained what had happened back in Canada, it had only given her a moment's thought about Jean. So she'd done what any halfway-decent person would do. Big deal. It wasn't what Jean did when she was feeling generous that had Emma wary of her.

"But that might change if ya tell me why ya got all this hate," he said.

Almost instinctively, her nails dug into the blanket. His eyes flickered down to her hands, watching, but not commenting. It was almost annoying, how much care he tried to take of her. She wasn't someone who needed to be taken care of. Just because he was the one who, by chance and mutation, was the one who would bring her sister home, that didn't mean he was her babysitter.

She rolled her eyes.

"When the X-men came to Muir Island, Essex made me use a machine and attack them," she said, deciding to get it over with, "I got in Scott's head, and I saw...some things. But even through the pain, he managed to convince me to take a risk and help them."

Her mind went back to that day and she had to suppress a shudder.

"But Jean didn't get the memo, or wasn't looking at my mind, or whatever, and she lashed out," said Emma, "The Professor stopped it once he realized what had happened."

She shook her head.

"Might've been the most painful thing I've ever experienced," she said.

"The most painful thing you've ever experienced?" asked Logan.

His tone wasn't disbelieving, but it had all the essence of a clarifying question. She crossed her arms and looked away. Not even being Laura's father gave him the right to pry into her life like this, and certainly not that particular day.

"I get it."

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed.

"You don't need to do this," she said, "This whole 'I understand you' thing. I know what you're going to say: it was an accident and I shouldn't hate Jean for what happened, or whatever bullshit you feel the need to sprout."

He cocked his head.

"Kid, do ya know I killed my first man when I was ten?" he asked, "Wasn't even sure that was what I wanted ta do at the time, but he'd just killed my father. At least...thought he was my father. Some things are still fuzzy round the edges, but that I goddamn remember."

The almost toneless way he said it made Emma pause. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. His hands were steady when he struck the match.

"Next few years were spent running," Logan said, "I know ya know I'm older than I look. Fought in the Civil War, Union. Ever seen what bayonets do ta someone? Not swords or knives, but bayonets. And they kept those things for the next coupla wars. I've seen men blown apart, torn to pieces, gassed, tortured. I was there in Nagasaki when they dropped the atomic bomb. Saw skin slide right off from the burns."

He stopped for a moment, putting the cigar in his mouth for a deep drag. Emma stared at him, feeling a little disconnected. She wanted to tell him to continue. She wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to know why he was telling her all of this. Emma couldn't remember what she'd said or done to warrant such personal confessions.

What she did do was send a slight mental nudge to Laura to maybe stay in the bathroom a little longer. She'd seen and heard much for a child her age, but it was probably good to shield her from anything more. Her father didn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing.

"Then, not that long ago, I thought I saw your sister murdered by my brother. That was...unlike anything I'd ever experienced," he said, "And then they tore apart my bones and put metal in. Felt like I was being picked apart, inch by inch with goddamn tweezers. And there comes a point..."

For the first time, she thought she saw the cigar twitch in his hand.

"...a point where, no matter how much you hate them, no matter how much you wanna live, the pain becomes more than you can bear," he said, "You fight for so long and so damn hard, and then some bastard finds your limit and pushes you past it. Then, suddenly, maybe only for a second, you wanna die."

The world stopped. Emma felt an odd tingling sensation race from her wrists up to her forearms.

"And ya can't forgive that person, because they made you want what ya swore ya'd never want," Logan said, "Doesn't even matter if they did it by accident in a way, because that's not what it's about. It's what they made ya feel. You lost the fight. You broke."

The sensation was in her face now, building up slowly but surely behind her eyes.

"And ya can't talk about it, because who the hell would get that?" he said, "Not Chuck, not even his wife probably. Not most o the nerds here. Maybe Mags, but damned if he's the kind ya can talk to."

He brought the cigar to his lips again, and let out a long breath of smoke.

"But ya just keep making yourself strong, because ya hafta," he said, "Someone said recenlty it's because ya need ta, because so much shit happened. If you don't build these walls, don't dig the trench and put up the goddamn barbed wire, you're not gonna make it. Ya needed a core of ice ta get through it all, ta come out alive, be as strong and tough as ya need ta be."

Her jaw was tightening as the strength went out of the rest of her.

"I know from experience, that it can turn ya into an animal," he said, "Your sister showed me a different way, a way I'd almost forgotten til I found out I still had more ta lose. Because I can't be an animal. Laura doesn't need that. You don't need that. Now that there's a chance I can get Kayla back, I'm not riskin her either. You're all family, and ya might not want me for a brother Emma, but that doesn't mean I can't care. Doesn't mean I want ta see somethin happen ta ya."

Her whole body felt on the verge of shaking now.

"You two...you and Kayla," she managed, "You're not...you're not married. I'm not your anything. We're not-"

He snorted, a peculiar mixture between a scoff and a laugh.

"Somethin ya gotta know," he said, "Even if there comes a day when she doesn't want me, I know that as long as I can remember the way her eyes ignite, there's never gonna be another woman for me. I'm not married to her kid, but I might as well be for all the ability I have ta want another woman."

Logan took another puff of his cigar.

"Whether or not ya wanna call me your brother, and I don't blame ya if ya don't, that makes you some kinda family ta me," he said.

She looked down and, for the first time in a while, felt a measure of guilt. How many times had Logan taken Laura out to do something she thought of as dangerous or sub par? How many times had she scoffed at his lack of finesse when it came to fathering Laura, when he swore in front of her?

How long had she gone without ever seeing how he related to her, even when he'd told her he cared the first night they met?

"I'm sorry," she said.

The words were like pulling teeth, but the pain seemed a little more bearable afterward. The smell of cigar smoke drifted closer to her, and she realized Logan had sat beside her. Almost tentatively, he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be," he said, "When it comes down to it, I'm just some stranger ta ya, aren't I?"

"Not at this point," said Emma, "Not after everything you've done, for me, for Laura. For all of us really."

She looked up at him. The cigar was in his other hand, and he was giving her a frank, although slightly lost, look. Emma thought of her life for the past few months, the past few years. Then there was her sister, forced to fight for people and causes she despised. During what must have been hell for Kayla, there had been Logan, a confidante, comrade, lover.

She thought of Laura, who once thought shots in the eye were common, and she was a baby for thinking they hurt. The very fact she was a clone meant she'd already been denied many normal experiences. She was built from the stolen DNA of a determined, beautiful woman and a man with blood on his hands and rips in his soul.

"Our family's kinda screwed up, isn't it?" she said.

Logan let out a barking laugh. She didn't join him.

"Course we are," he said, "Doesn't mean the pieces don't fit though. I need Kayla and Laura, and they both need ya, which means I need ya too."

Emma moved her hand so it was touching the hand on her shoulder.

"Bring Kayla home," she said, "But bring yourself home too."

He nodded shortly.

"Course," he said, "You'd all be pissed otherwise."

This time, she did laugh, but it was weak. She was feeling too much for more.


	9. Chapter 9

Charles felt exhausted as he watched the team load up the car. It was the second time he'd seen someone load up a car that day, and it was only 9 p.m. He'd only arrived back minutes ago, and had just enough time to set Kevin on the course for bedtime preparations. He'd had to head back down immediately afterward.

It appeared that Erik had moved fast after receiving his permission to put together a team and head to Japan. He'd booked a private plane, which made Charles glad, because at least his stepfather's money was being used for something constructive. It actually gave him a strange delight to spend that money on something his stepfather would disapprove of.

The rest of the team had already gotten ready. It occurred to him that Erik had selected people who were used to getting up and going at a moment's notice. Already Raven's suitcase was in the car, and he saw her talking to Kurt, who was leaning against the wall. Logan was, as he understood it, saying goodbye to Laura and Emma. Peter was nowhere to be seen, but Charles doubted that would last for very long

Not that Charles minded a swift response. The last few months they'd waged a long war with Essex and Stryker, escalating that night where he'd felt Moira's mind slip from his grasp. He wanted things to be safe for a while, for the heartache and pain to end.

Charles wanted the chance, as selfish as it was, to start trying to have something of a quiet family life. Things would never be easy, not as long as mutants were persecuted, as long as people like Stryker and Essex were out there. But there could be lulls. He wanted to give Kevin a chance to process everything that had happened. He wanted to give their baby a quiet start in life, and his wife a stressless recovery.

He sighed. Everything had moved so fast that those things seemed almost impossible. Even his wedding to Moira had been rushed. He'd been torn between marrying her there and then and waiting for a more elaborate ceremony.

In the end, she'd made the decision, asking Levine to come down and requesting something with a local minister. It had been a small affair, not something he regretted really. In some ways it had seemed unnecessary since the moment she'd put the ring on her finger. Just knowing that she'd wanted to marry him, to stay, had been enough for him.

To him, the whole thing hadn't really seemed real until he returned home and he discovered that, without a word, she'd put the rest of her items in his room. He'd seen her dresses and slacks in the closet, her books and pictures on his desk. It had taken everything in him not to break down then, because he'd known that those items weren't going to leave.

How many times had he wished they were married with children, working together toward a common goal? She was, in the end, one of the few who hadn't really ever left him. They would be enough for each other now, with opportunities wasted forgotten and a future to look forward to.

That was, of course, if Essex and Stryker could be safely kept out. They hadn't heard much from them in the past few months. Levine was keeping up the pressure on Essex, having volunteered his trusted services as a consultant. He was losing friends politically, and if he was losing resources, then so was Stryker. America might not be such a hospitable place for them for much longer.

Which might be why operations, or at least some of them, were moving to Japan. Then again, if that were true, why not just move to Muir Island? The X-men were familiar with it, true enough, but it had been a close thing last time. Charles rubbed his chin, wondering and watching as Erik loaded up his suitcase.

A breeze stirred his jacket, and he heard something thunk on the ground next to him.

"So, how's she doin?"

"Well enough, considering all things," Charles said, inclining his head to Peter, "It's been difficult for her, as you can expect, and Kevin's frightened."

"Yeah, Raven filled me in a little bit," said Peter, scratching the back of his neck, "Hope you didn't mind, but I said goodbye to Kev before I headed down. Not too long, like, he's still brushing his teeth or something, but I wanted to see how he was doin."

"Your thoughts?" asked Charles.

While the two hadn't known each other very long, Charles was very conscious of how fond Peter was of Kevin. In turn, Kevin quite liked Peter, although Charles had often tried to ensure he didn't repeat some of Peter's more colorful phrases. Having the input of a non-family member who was an adult would likely be helpful.

At the question, Peter scratched his neck a little more furiously. His eyes reflected surprise, but he seemed to be taking the question seriously.

"Kind of a difficult question," he said, "He's real strong for his age, right? But he's just so...he's got a good thing going. Doesn't want ta screw it up or anything, and doesn't want anything to screw it up for him. Think he's scared, but I think he's a little angry too."

"Angry?" Charles repeated.

The word surprised him.

"Not at you or anything," Peter said hurriedly, "Or his mom, but, right now, he should be trying to help out with picking the baby's name, toys, shit like that. Playing baseball. Not learning the meaning of pre-eclampsia, and I think that kinda gets to him. Not that it has a target, that anger, but it's still there, ya know?"

Charles considered the answer. Yes, he did know that feeling. Unfortunately, he knew that that anger eventually chose a target. For him, it had been Erik, although, truthfully, Erik had only been part of the problem.

He was a little worried as to who Kevin's target might one day become if he didn't find a way to stop this.

"Just think he needs a little more normal," said Peter, "If we can, ya know, give it to him. Maybe like a year or so of playing with his friends and not having any of them massively bleeding or anything? Give him a chance to be a brother maybe. He wants to be one."

His voice became gloomy as he finished. Charles looked at him closely.

 _"Great, great. I've always liked kids, right? I mean, I never wanted to grow up, but I wanted everything to speed up a little, you know? But kids just have this sense of adventure that a lot of adults don't have, myself included. All the kids in the neighborhood liked it when I got outta school. I coulda had my own gang by the time I was fifteen."_

 _Another marshmallow made its way into Peter's mouth._

 _"And I always thought to myself, I'd...I'd..."_

 _A shadow passed over his face, and Charles sat up straighter. Peter was rarely this serious about anything, and he'd already said more than a few sentences before cracking a joke._

 _"I always thought I'd make a damn good older brother," he mumbled._

He glanced over at Erik. He was a good twenty feet away and completely occupied with the map to the airport. There was no chance he could hear anything he was about to say, but Charles wasn't going to take any chances.

 _You would've made Nina a fine older brother,_ he said.

Peter looked at him, horrified.

 _Gonna kill Raven,_ he said, _Bad enough she had to go blab to Stormy, but does she have to do this with everyone? I-_

 _I figured it out_ , Charles thought, _The two of you have similar tendencies, but it's only really visible when you're angry. It took me a while since, I'm glad to say, you don't get angry very often. I will respect your current wish to remain silent though._

 _Thanks. Just...thanks._

Charles gave him a small nod.

 _But I meant what I said. You really would've been a good brother._

Peter looked at him for a moment longer, then shrugged. He shuffled his feet and Charles realized that Peter didn't want to hear that from him. What he really wanted, a chance to prove himself as such, was gone. The next best thing would be to hear it said, but not from Charles.

He wanted to hear that from his father.

 _Peter, whatever happened between you and Erik the other day, he is still very angry about it_ , Charles said.

 _He doesn't have any right to be,_ snapped Peter, _I'm not the one who crossed the line._

Charles gave up all pretense of watching Erik and turned his full attention to Peter. It would have been easier to press a little deeper into his mind, to see what it was that had transpired between the two on Kevin's birthday.

But Peter hadn't given him permission to do so, and that wasn't his way. He'd have to do things the hard way.

 _What did you say?_ he asked, _I know it was about his wife and daughter, but I don't know exactly what it was that was said._

Peter scoffed.

 _He's the one who said it about his family, whether or not he realized it,_ he said, _He said doing things your way was a mistake, which is dumb, because that's the only thing I've seen work so far._

The venom and force behind each word momentarily threw Charles for a loop. Peter must have caught his feelings, because he shuffled again, suddenly more flustered and, if he wasn't mistaken, a little shy.

 _Look...it's just...I mean...here's how I see it_ , Peter said, _In the Pentagon, you didn't want to kill anyone. And...no one had asked if I could or couldn't do what I did. So maybe you didn't know how fast I was, but, at the end of the day, you wanted to look for alternatives. That's what solved that situation without splattering blood all over that kitchen._

He stared at the ground, and Charles blinked. Although he felt a little guilty at the realization, he hadn't thought about how Peter had seen that. He hadn't even really thought about him at the time until he'd helped them. Back then, the most he'd done was handed him an old business card, a scrap of a fraying dream.

 _And what happened in D.C.? The thing that made people a little more accepting of mutants?_ Peter said, _Not sure if you noticed, but that didn't happen because of how he did things. Then there's Nur. Your way solved that mess. Even with all this shit with Essex and everybody, you're leading us down your path, and we're winning._

Charles didn't want to tell him that sometimes it felt like they were merely treading water. He didn't want to tell him the abysmal feeling of failure he routinely received for every scar and attack on those he loved.

 _It's his way that doesn't work,_ Peter said, _It wasn't a mistake to try things the only way that actually did something, kay? I'm sorry it turned out so shitty for him, but that doesn't mean what he did was a mistake. That doesn't mean they were a mistake._

The words made Charles wince because, to some small degree, he could almost see how the scene had played out.

 _My sister...whether she liked dolls, jump rope, Rubik's Cubes, baseball, whatever, wasn't a mistake,_ Peter said, _I think she made his life better, and I bet she made her mom's life better, and I think she liked her life._

 _Are you sure that's what he was referring to?_ asked Charles. _His wife and daughter?_

 _Not sure what else he could've meant_ , Peter said.

 _Himself perhaps?_

Peter stiffened. He looked at Charles once, his entire body suddenly still. It was almost unnatural for him.

 _No...I don't...no..._

 _You don't sound sure,_ Charles said quietly, _But it's something I think you should consider. Erik has always...tried to find a place, to protect others in his own way. He's often been wrong, but he's carried a strange feeling of self, as though things he touched were easily destroyed. I think he often saw himself as a destroyer, and when they died, he saw no point in being anything else. But when that didn't work...he's not as sure of who he is and his place as he looks._

Distantly, the trunk to the car shut with a snap. It jerked Charles back, and he saw Erik turning to Raven. Logan had just come out the front door, a bag slung over his shoulder and a cigar casually resting on his lips.

"Everyone, in!" Erik called.

Peter reached down and grabbed his backpack.

"Thanks Prof," he said, "And uh, tell Kevin to hang in there. Him and his mom, and uh, you too."

"Alright," said Charles, managing a smile, "And...well, you too."

Peter turned to look at his father. Charles saw how lost the boy looked, and thought about his words. Perhaps Peter had something else in common with his father. To others, they knew who they were, what they wanted. Inside, their paths felt full of stones and briars.

"I'm always good," Peter said.

He blurred, and Charles saw him seated in the back seat, already tapping on the glass. He wished he could believe Peter's words. However, at least for now, it looked like Peter and his father would have to find their own footing along their own treacherous paths.

Charles just wished those paths would lead one to the other soon.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Sorry everyone. There's a glitch on the site, and I can't read anyone's reviews. I can see that you're all reviewing, and I really appreciate it, but I just can't read them right now. I've reported it, so hopefully we'll get it fixed up soon._


	10. Chapter 10

Hank finished washing his face in cold water. He'd hoped it would wake him up, because he couldn't afford to look like he'd spent the whole night awake. Truthfully, that might not cause suspicion for the close friend of a woman who had just been admitted with pre-eclampsia. But if someone had caught him planting his own small alarms in strategic points in the hospital, it might.

He looked down at his watch. On one side, it tracked any possible proximity alarms to the school. He'd left its twin with Charles. The other tracked the alarms around the hospital, made to detect any large scale entry. Again, its twin was with Charles.

Over the first few days, he figured he'd get several false alarms for paramedics rushing any trauma cases through. However, he'd be careful about that, make sure the situation was under control.

Nodding to himself, he lathered up and started shaving his face. He'd always been surprised that, despite all the problems his father had warned him about before he went into the medical profession, he had rarely ever nicked himself. He'd learned later while repairing ripped blood vessels that he had very steady hands.

He finished up and took stock. He'd packed aftershave and enough of his shaving kit to last for a while, and he had to keep things up. They probably wouldn't let him visit Moira until after she had her morning check-up, but he'd have to get a better lay of the land before then. There was a floor or two that he wasn't familiar with, since he'd had to turn back or risk suspicion.

So, running on an hour of sleep, he slipped his pockets full of necessary materials and headed out. He made sure to lock his guest room behind him. The hospital was already a beehive of activity, something he remembered early from his early days learning his trade.

It actually made him a little nostalgic for a time when life seemed brimming of optimism. Yes, things hadn't been perfect, but he'd had a pretty good idea of where things were going. The CIA had been scouting him for their science division. He could spend a year or two there, help his country, move on to become a doctor.

Now though, he was practically casing a hospital. He tried to remember what Alex had told him to look for when he was trying to figure out the angles on a building. Alex's talents as a burglar had come in handy as an X-men, pointing out weak points in offices and other facilities. He hadn't been perfect all the time, as several sudden alarms had told them, but some things had always worked for them.

For one thing, he'd taught Hank to look at the flow of people coming in and out of a building. Hank wasn't liking what he was noticing about the hospital. Most people didn't give him a second look, probably because there really were a lot of visitors to the hospital. That thought was rather worrying. With thousands of faces coming in and out, what were a few extra ones if Essex was stealthy about it?

It was one of the reasons he wanted to see if he could hack into the security cameras. He needed to try and get that surveillance technology, see if he could put some facial recognition software in there. It would be crude even if he had his entire lab, but he'd brought a few things he could use to work on. It was going to be difficult, and it would only be able to recognize people like Essex and Stryker, maybe some of Weapon X, but not any nameless cronies.

He shook his head. One thing at a time, and it was better than nothing. He walked around a corner and saw what he realized was a records station. The orderly on duty looked up, but Hank gave him a polite nod and, without slowing, headed in the direction of the cafeteria. The orderly looked down again, as they probably would for any visitor who got lost.

As he did, Hank saw one of the administration offices. He looked at it out of the corner of his eye, his heart pounding wildly. Some part of him wondered if it was the sleep deprivation or something else, but he was only now starting to get nervous.

Perhaps it was because, in his own way, he was just continuing his care of a patient. Yes, he'd always been very brave when it came to his patients. He'd pushed himself on serums, when his bones ached, his fingers clotted with blood. He'd carried Kurt back to Westchester. How had he done that? Yes, he'd been strong, but the wrong jolt could've made the injury worse. But he'd saved his life.

And now, in a different way, he needed to save Moira's. Hers and her baby's. If things went well, Essex would never know, no one would ever come. She would never become eclamptic, and the baby would be born early, but healthy. It would be fine.

He stopped by a nearby vending machine. He looked at the selection, moving so the camera wouldn't see what he was about to do next. Slowly and carefully, he put a small device on the back of the machine. Over the next three hours it would establish a link with the one in his room, and he'd be able to get to work that afternoon.

Just as he planted it, he saw several doctors pour out of a conference room from the corner of his eye. Panicking, he grabbed a few quarters from his pockets and punched in the first thing he could find. He needed to look casual, as though he had a purpose, and it was also helpful. The cafeteria was too far away and, really, when he thought about it, he did need something for breakfast.

Luckily, the package of Pop Tarts was slowly unwinding from the machine. He sighed, grateful that they were at least a decent flavor. It was tasty and quick, something that had quickly become one of his best breakfast foods when he was busy, which was always.

Just as it was about to fall, he saw it get caught between the glass and the vend compartment. He gaped at it, hitting the side of the machine once, then twice. It didn't budge. Frustration built inside. An almost sleepless night, coupled with the adrenaline of the past hour, built up. Despite himself, he swore.

"You won't get it out that way."

He turned to the side and saw Carly. She was standing a few feet away and giving him a vaguely amused, mostly sympathetic look. She walked a little closer, the tap tapping of her cane filling the air as she did so.

"You must be new," she said, "Everyone knows not to get the Pop Tarts, not unless they want..."

She trailed off, and then cocked her head.

"Hank?" she asked.

"You remember me?" he blurted.

Immediately he felt a flood of awkwardness. First off, his voice was scratchy, probably from how little sleep he'd gotten. Second, it was, really, the wrong question. Most people would have other queries if a blind person was suddenly able to figure out. But it was the one that, for whatever reason, pushed itself to the front of his head. Now he might not get a chance to ask.

She smiled at that though.

"I have a pretty good memory for people, especially men who sweep me off my feet," she said, "Why are you here so early though? Did your friend need another check-up?"

He swallowed.

"She uh, she's pre-eclamptic," he said.

She pursed her lips, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He'd spent so much time the night before explaining the condition to so many people that he'd forgotten there were people who didn't know what it was. Just because Carly worked at the hospital didn't mean she knew every single one of the different ailments someone could get-

"I'm sorry," Carly said, "But she's under observation, so it was obviously caught before the seizures or the most severe symptoms. I'm guessing they want to wait a few weeks before they perform the cesarean."

"Um, yeah," said Hank, feeling a little disconnected, "She's only around thirty weeks."

"Then it's good she's here," said Carly, "And I'm guessing you're staying here with her then."

"Right again," Hank said.

He swallowed vaguely, and his eyes went back to the Pop Tarts. They were still stuck in the machine. He decided that, all things considered, maybe he should just leave them there. He could probably get some in the cafeteria if he really wanted them. He needed to leave before he made a bigger fool of himself after all.

But Carly was still facing his direction, and standing between him and the cafeteria. He couldn't say for certain that she was looking at him, or how that even registered for her, trying to wait for someone to say something. It wasn't technically his turn, but he hadn't been particularly forthcoming.

Eventually she walked a little closer and put her fingertips on the glass.

"Are they not feeding you?" she asked.

"Oh, it's fine," he said, "I just uh, didn't feel like doing a whole big thing at the cafeteria. Moira's getting her check-up, and, all things considered, I probably shouldn't be there right now."

"There's a place where you can just get coffee on the first floor you know," she said.

"I'll get some eventually," Hank said, "Just wanted some Pop Tarts first."

"Coffee first. 'Tis a cruelty to load a falling man.," she said.

He paused, and turned his head slightly.

"Henry the Eighth?" he asked.

She breathed in, and then her smile grew wider.

"Not many people know that I'm actually quoting something when I say that," she said.

"Not many people know that's a quote," Hank said, "That wasn't one of the more popular plays."

"For a reason," she said, "It wasn't very good. You have a play about one of the weirdest series of marriages in the British monarchy, which is saying something, and I feel like he said absolutely nothing when it was over."

"You have to think about his audience," said Hank.

"Yes, one of the man's daughters," said Carly, "But still. Why write something at all if you're not going to bother doing a good job?"

Despite himself, he chuckled slightly. She did too, and the sound was surprisingly soothing. Carly radiated a strange warmth, an elegance he hadn't seen before. He wasn't even sure how old she was. From the soft, fresh look of her skin, she could've been anywhere from twenty-five to thirty, both ages placing her years younger than him.

Something about that confidence seemed old though. It brought his mind back to an old question that, frankly, he probably should've asked sooner.

"Hey, if you don't mind me asking, how did you know it was me?" he asked.

Carly stiffened, and he saw her let out a low breath. He straightened his sleeves nervously, wondering if he'd somehow offended her.

"I'm just really hoping I don't smell that bad is all," he said.

She relaxed, laughing softly.

"I already told you," she said.

"I...um...I don't think you did," he said.

Carly pulled quarters out of her pocket and walked up to the vending machine.

"I knew it was you for the same reason I knew it was Pop Tarts you were getting, the same way how I know to get them out," she said.

She punched in "E7," and a packet of gum fell from one of the vending slots. It knocked the Pop Tarts down, and he gaped as it did. With a swift movement, Carly reached inside, handing him the Pop Tarts and keeping the gum.

He reached out tentatively, his fingers just brushing the packet.

"I remember things Hank," she said, "And I remember someone like you."

His ears grew hot as she let go of the Pop Tarts. Carly smiled at him once more before starting to leave.

"I have to get to work," she said, "I um, I hope...I...I suppose I'll see you around."

He watched her go, her brown hair swishing behind her. Despite everything that had happened over the last few hours, he wasn't sure when the last time his heart had beat this fast was.


	11. Chapter 11

The plane ride to Japan was long, probably made worse by the simple fact that Erik's team consisted of people he selected purely based on fighting skills. It has nothing to do with their ability to talk to him or, in most cases, glower. They were very good at the latter.

Mystique was busy in the cockpit, her flying abilities enough to get them there. If there was any serious turbulence they would have to rely on him to keep the plane afloat. He wasn't looking forward to it.

At the same time, Logan didn't seem to be particularly good with flying. This seemed to be a new aspect to the man, and one that he found particularly galling. Logan had finally taken enough whiskey to get into some sort of sleep: good since they had another ten hours ahead of them. He doubted it was enough to give him a hangover though. Being off his game wasn't something Erik thought Logan was willing to risk.

For the first few hours though, every slight dip and turn had Erik wanting to do something unpleasant with Logan's claws. With every passing minute, he'd expected Peter to make some sort of remark. The situation seemed like it would present an endless source of mirth for him, since he seemed to enjoy the misery of others.

However, the boy had been strangely quiet during the ride. His eyes seemed to be fixed on another space. He didn't even seem to be moving around or twitching as much as he normally did. It would be interesting, or worrying, if he cared.

As it was, he didn't, something he kept reminding himself of. Yes, Peter had been one of the few members of the school who had gone out of their way to speak to him. Charles maintained a hopelessly optimistic view of who he was or could be, but that was to be expected. Peter had seemed more than willing to take a bullet with him, and to talk without judgement or righteousness.

Not, at least, until Kevin's birthday. Then it had reared its ugly head in a way that had made him want to flip the table over, break his damn legs all over again. Peter had said things he had no business meddling with. No one did. The only living soul who had been there that day was him. He was the only one who knew of his failure, of the way his wife always seemed able to surprise him when he came home, Nina's sweet laughter. These were secrets that would die with him.

Erik shuffled in his seat, trying to banish the thoughts. They were both dead, the dirt and maggots slowly seeping into their flesh. It was a courtesy his parents never had, but a bitter, cruel one all the same.

He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, trying not to picture decomposition happening miles away. It didn't work, just like it never did, never would. Inside him, something deep cried out, both in pain and longing. He wished he had just brought the bodies back into the house and tucked them in, safe and warm. Burying them had been too much, because he could remember just how cold their flesh had been.

And what was the point of burying the dead if they stayed with you?

"I think that when my stepdad left my mom hated me."

He paused, every muscle twitching in annoyance.

"I know you're awake, so you know, listen, don't listen, whatever," Peter said.

"I don't really give a damn about anything you have to say," said Erik.

"You know, that was what I figured you'd say," said Peter, "But I thought about it, before you spoke, and I think I'll keep talking. See, that was the first time she really, truly hated me. It didn't last. She's pretty good, my mom. She just had a lot to deal with, that's all."

Erik opened his eye a crack, and noticed Peter was staring straight ahead, his hands in his lap, not even looking at him. Perhaps he should tell him to shut up again. The long pauses were making him wonder just what the boy had to say though and, even if he told him to shut up, he had no way of enforcing that without violence.

Considering the size of the plane, and what had happened last time he'd done that, it seemed like a poor idea. Besides, despite it all, he didn't really have the urge to hurt Peter enough to make him stop talking. It had passed that day in the lab and, for everything that had happened and been said, he was glad Peter was fast. It had gotten him out of the room fast enough to avoid injury.

Short of hiding in the plane's bathroom, he didn't have too many options.

"So, I mean, basically, what I'm getting at, is that I didn't know he wasn't my actual dad until he left," Peter said, "There was a fight, and he came storming out. I came down the stairs to watch him leave. Didn't try to stop him. He'd been such an asshole for so long, that I didn't think there was anything he could do left to hurt me."

For the first time, his voice faltered. Peter was blinking rapidly now and, even though he hated it, Erik found a sliver of concern worming its way in. Why was he telling him this, and why now? Had he been sneaking Logan's whiskey when Erik wasn't watching?

"And then, just before he went out, he turned, and he looked at me, and he told me everything," said Peter, "I just...stared at him. I was fifteen, and I was just learning that I could talk faster than anyone. But what do you say to any of that shit anyway? Then he looked at me, and he said that shit about wishing mom miscarried and I realized then that, he didn't just not like me. I mean, I knew that."

"Peter," Erik said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I have no desire to speak to you. I simply don't. That being said, I feel the need to repeat a single word: szambonurek. That was what your father was."

"No, I know he was a dick," said Peter, "An absolute dick. Worst I ever met. But that's not what I'm talking about here. Not the normal asshole dick stuff."

Erik considered locking himself in the bathroom. The confession was making him uncomfortable in a way that Peter's earlier details about his family hadn't. There was something so raw, so pained in it that reminded him too much of himself.

The only difference was, he'd told Charles these details over a long period of time. Most of them he still didn't know. The only one who came close to knowing it all had been his wife, and even then, he'd edited.

For whatever reason, Peter wasn't editing. Not anymore.

"This was something...new," Peter said, "Because, when he looked at me, I realized I was this big fat mistake to him."

The word 'mistake' felt like a punch to the face, bone-shattering and heavy.

"Then I went back, and asked my mom if it was true because I mean, I needed to know, more than I needed to know if she was okay," said Peter, "And she had all this smudged mascara, tears running down her face, and that's when, for however long, she hated me. Hated me because I was the wrong guy's son, because I'd screwed up her marriage. Because I wasn't the pregnancy she needed to have a normal, good life. And that's the only time she called me a mistake. I was a mistake."

Peter's blinking was becoming quicker, his light lashes blurring to the point where it looked like there was a small cloud of dust gathered around his eyes.

"You know, one of the things I love about the Professor and Moira, is how they talk about the baby," he said, "See, she wasn't expecting to get knocked up at this point in her life. They weren't married or shit, or anything else, and this baby has really, really complicated things. Even now, she's got some sort of weird baby disease that might kill her, but you know what? I don't think she's angry at the baby about that. I don't think Prof is either. Even Kevin isn't, and he's goddamn nine."

One of Peter's legs was twitching. Erik had sat up and was openly staring now, but Peter was still talking, his words coming out thick.

"Because, when I heard her talking to her CIA buddy on the phone, she said the baby was a surprise," he said, "Not a mistake, a surprise. And do you wanna know the funny thing about that? I believe them. A surprise! People like surprises!"

He made a strange, jerky gesture with his hand. Erik noticed there was a kind of strange cadence to his movements now. Almost all at once, he realized Peter was trying not to go running, because there was nowhere to run.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he didn't want to leave.

"And there's a difference," Peter said, "Because that baby is being born to people who love and want it, and always have, and always will. So it's not a mistake. A mistake is a person who you see as this goddamn disease in your life, something you wanna just cut out. Like gangrene, or those bullets Hank pulled outta Kurt. They just wanna get rid of it, because it hurts them and it's making everything worse. They never asked for it, never wanted it."

For the first time, Peter looked at him. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his eyes rimmed with pink, not from tears, but stress. He was scared, and Erik could see that. But not of him, not exactly. It was something else.

"You don't...the way you talk about them, or, let's be honest, the way you don't talk about them, they couldn't have been a mistake," he said, "You wanted them, and you got them through the Prof's way. Yeah, it went to hell, and that's terrible. But...I just...I wish I was like the Professor, or Kevin, because I could make you see what that damn look he gave me was. And you would know if they saw you as a mistake, because I'm willing to bet everything that they never looked at you like that. Not once."

Erik stared at him, the pieces falling into place, the way Peter tensed up when the word mistake was used. He wanted to leave now, but not because of Peter. Not because of what he was saying, or what he had said, but, for the first time in a long time, he thought of his family, alive. Wanted. Loved. Happy, at least for a time.

For all his faults, he'd found a place there. It was fleeting, as he'd discovered, but it had been his.

"Don't try to use shit words like mistake, okay? Because it's not fair to them," Peter said, "So like, hate me, and be all intimidating and shit, but don't think of them or you as a mistake, because you're not a mistake if they wanted you."

"They really shouldn't have," said Erik.

"Well that's not your choice, is it?" snapped Peter, "That was theirs."

Peter wiped the back of his nose with his jacket, suddenly sullen, and glared out a window. Erik leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. God, what a mess. What a screwed up world they had all been born into, that Charles was trying to show the light.

And in the middle of it all, people like Peter got screwed.

"Is now the part where you throw me outta the plane?"

He opened his eyes and turned. Peter was looking at him again, almost as though daring him to do it. It amazed him how he could go from pained to defiant all in the blink of an eye. It was as if his own emotions had been reflected and sped up, both by youth and impatience.

"No," Erik said, "We still have a mission to get through."

"The way back then?"

"Possibly," said Erik.

Almost without meaning it, and certainly not wanting it, his tone lightened slightly. Peter cracked a broken grin at him.

"Hafta catch me first," he said.

Unbidden and foreign, a grin spread into his lips. Now, more than ever, Erik could see what Charles had seen in the boy. He could see what it was that drew children to him like a magnet, that same kind of guileless innocence mixed with adult strength and bravery.

And, more than ever, he realized both Peter's fathers were szambonureks. One for telling him he wished he'd been miscarried, and the other for never knowing him.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N:** The glitch is fixed and I can see all of your reviews! I'm really excited, and I'm looking forward to answering them. For those who have pointed out mistakes: they'll be corrected. Thank you all for reviewing, even though I couldn't read them at the time._

* * *

For the first time ever, Laura was sulking. Emma was surprised to see her little niece sitting on her bed with her favorite book tucked close to her chest, her entire body formed into a pout. It would've even been cute in a way, but she could see the look of surprise in her eyes.

She sighed and sat down next to her. It was hard to remember sometimes that Laura wasn't actually six. No, she was a child whose life comprised of a handful of months. She'd gotten through a gambit of emotions quickly, fear, acceptance, love, anger, the big ones. The variations were still strange, and they never failed to surprise Laura when she experienced them.

"What's wrong?" asked Emma.

Laura wriggled further into her bunk bed. Emma raised her eyebrows, and then smiled. She leaned down and whispered in Laura's ear-

"I don't believe in..."

Laura looked over at her, her eyes full of surprise now.

"...pie," Emma said.

Her niece let out a relieved breath. Emma laughed and moved closer.

"You can't kill faeries, you know that right?" she asked.

"You shouldn't risk it," said Laura.

"And that's why you don't breathe quickly, because it might kill adults?" asked Emma.

Laura frowned and nodded. It was almost inconceivable to Emma how many strange things were in Laura's favorite book. She herself had grown up with the cartoon, and there wasn't any nonsense about quick breathing killing adults.

Besides, if it was that easy, Essex would've died many times over.

"Now, what's wrong?" asked Emma.

Still frowning, Laura looked down at her book.

"Daddy's not here," she said, "Kevin's mom is sick, and he's sad. And I don't know what to say."

Emma sighed and moved so she was seated. Yes, that was so often the problem when it came to Laura: she didn't know what to say or do. Most people didn't, but Laura always seemed to think others did, that it was just her. She sometimes would just stare, unsure. Other people at least knew platitudes.

Once more, Essex's urge to play God had robbed Emma of something in her life, namely Laura's ability to at least have an idea of what to do or say. He'd taken Emma's world from her, and he'd taken the world from Laura for so much of her life.

But she hid her anger, pulling Laura's hair away from her face.

"Well, your daddy is coming back," she said, "Because they don't know how to kill him. And Kevin's mother will be fine. Her and the baby."

"You don't know that," said Laura, "Any of it."

It wasn't said with any real malice, but Emma raised her eyebrows all the same. It was unlike Laura to talk back. Perhaps she was picking things up from her friends. Emma might have to keep an eye on that.

"No, but I feel it," she said, "And that's not bad either. So, to me, the only real problem is Kevin being sad."

Laura nodded hesitantly, and Emma pulled herself up. This was where she could excel, do something right. One thing she knew better than anyone was how well a distraction helped someone get through grief or anxiety.

"And what would make him happy?" she prompted.

"His mom healthy," said Laura.

"No honey. You don't have that mutation," Emma said. "Think. You're smart. What can you actually do?"

Laura looked down at her book, flipping to the front. She smiled and put it down.

"We can go to the hospital!" Laura said, "Just because his daddy can't go doesn't mean he can't! I can take him to visit, and we'll have a party and he'll be happy!"

"There you go," said Emma, "You go tell him that we're going, oh, tomorrow's Saturday. We'll do it then. I'll get Scott to drive, and we'll make cookies and all sorts of things."

Her niece hopped off the bed and started scrambling down the hall. No matter how many different emotions Laura experienced, she always returned to joy. It was never more apparent than when she ran, filled with that pure happiness, caused by the knowledge she was going to make someone else happy.

Emma smiled to herself with the pain of someone who knew that, no matter what, she would never run like that.

* * *

The car was cramped. Logan could feel his shoulders scraping against the side, the whole back seat vibrating because that damn kid refused to stop tapping his foot. He'd been blissfully out for most of the trip up, but, in the small car, there was nowhere to hide.

Not to mention he was singing the lyrics to what had to be the most annoying song Logan had ever heard. Of all the things the silver-haired brat had to pack, he'd taken the damn Walkman with him. Stupid thing.

"I say we can act if want to, if we don't nobody will," Peter mumbled, rolling his shoulders back and bobbing his head, "And you can act real rude and totally removed and I can act like an imbecile-"

The kid was an imbecile. He wished he could just fall asleep again, something Raven was currently doing, but that wasn't an option. To start with, the kid was still singing. It wasn't too loud, which was probably why no one else was interested, but to Logan's sensitive hearing, he might as well have been singing at a normal level.

"We can dance, we can dance, everybody look at your hands. We can dance, we can dance everybody takin' the chance..."

But even sleep wouldn't be too comforting, not after the nightmares he'd been having. They weren't the ones where he'd wake up in the middle of the night, his sweat making the sheets stick to him and the persistent worry that this was the time when he'd seriously injured Kayla.

That didn't mean they weren't bad though. They'd been filled with Kayla, not the ones where she was alive and how she really was, but how he'd seen her in the woods. They were slightly different each time, but they were always filled with that same blank, terrible look.

And, on the plane, just like so many times before, she'd been holding Laura in her arms. The girl's long hair had been brushed away so he could see the collar clamped around her neck and blankness in her eyes.

Emma was never there, because he knew Essex had all but forgotten her. She wasn't a target, for all of the fear he knew she must have somewhere that she'd be forced to go back. The girl had guts, and spite enough to match, but he knew that glimmer of doubt must be there somewhere.

No, Essex wasn't thinking about Emma. His mind was still on the woman Logan loved, the daughter they'd never been able to have together. It was a win for Essex, no doubt, to be able to have them both.

And he already had one.

"Sssss, aaaaaaa, ffffff, eeeee, tttttt-"

Logan grabbed the Walkman from Peter's hands, ripping off his headphones. His spare hand was already winding down the window, but before he could throw it out he felt it leave his hand. He turned, his glare matched by Peter's.

"Dude, not cool," he said, clutching his Walkman to his chest.

"Then shut your trap and shut this thing off!" Logan snapped.

"I mean, seriously, who just takes another guy's tunes?" asked Peter, going on as if Logan wasn't even there, "Who does?"

His voice went up at the end, and Raven started. She peered over at them, her eyes their natural gold for once. She was still half-asleep but he could see the anger and irritation already starting to form.

She could join the club.

"Someone who doesn't wanna deal with this shit!" Logan said, "You were quiet on the way over. Why can't ya be quiet now?"

"Children," Raven drawled, irritated, "Don't make me pull this car over."

"You're not even driving," said Peter.

"Fine," Raven said, a yawn barely disguised, "I'll just open the door and step out."

"I'll join you," Logan said, biting out the words.

"No one is leaving this vehicle until we get there," snapped Erik.

Logan fisted his hand in the cloth of his pants.

"How much longer?" he growled.

"Only an hour," Erik said coldly.

Logan let out a frustrated noise in the back of his throat before shifting irritably.

"Next time, I sit in the front," he said.

Peter stopped tapping his foot, then grinned.

"Hey, you're not a treat to sit next to either," he said, "You smell like the pits."

"Peter," Erik warned.

"Come on guys, can't just be me. If we are rescuing your girlfriend, then shower first because she is not gonna want to come back if you smell like that-"

Logan's hand was around Peter's throat faster than he thought possible, slamming him into the other side of the car. Peter looked more surprised than scared, but that was going to be changing very quickly.

"Let. Him. Go."

The snarling words were accompanied by a vibration in his bones. He saw Erik looking at him in the rear view mirror, his eyes dark and angry. Logan looked back at Peter, who was holding up his hands as though desperately trying to placate him.

Logan let him go, disgusted. He pulled himself as far away as possible, glaring at the scenery.

"Okay, should've left it at the comments about you," Peter said, "Um...didn't think that...um didn't realize that part was crossing the line until I was about halfway through. I kind of have trouble stopping once I start. Sorry. Shouldn't have dragged Laura's mom into it."

He gave him a side look, searching for sarcasm, but all Peter looked was sheepish.

"I uh, tend to run my mouth," said Peter.

"Big damn shocker," Logan snorted.

Peter shrugged, although he still looked sheepish.

"I'm...thinking I should start working on it."

"Yes ya damn well should," snapped Logan.

"Okay," Peter said, holding up his hands again as though trying to ward him off.

"Good."

Silence descended, and the screwed up version of a sitcom family road trip continued. Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd had a trip this annoying since they'd had that one mission with that mercenary they'd picked up. Damn teen couldn't keep his mouth shut, and he hadn't been the only one who wanted to throttle the little shithead by the end.

"Before we get to the village, we should discuss cover while we get a lay of the land," Erik said, "It's going to look rather conspicuous for four foreigners to walk into town. Something someone might remember and report perhaps."

"Whaddya suggest?" asked Logan.

"They know Peter's face the least, so he should go in," said Erik, "But going in alone might prove unwise if Yashida has too many friends there."

Logan nodded, already sensing the ploy.

"So Raven turns into some woman, they pretend ta be newlyweds on honeymoon or somethin?" he asked.

"Something along those lines," Erik said, "Peter, I know you're rather new to this. Just remember, if you think someone's looking, public displays of affection make people uncomfortable-"

"Wait, pretend to be married to her and like...do that? Ick, no."

Erik's eyes flickered up to the rear view mirror and Raven turned, giving him a hard look. He held up his hands again, as though once again realizing what he'd said, but Logan very much doubted that would help him.

"Look, it's not you," Peter said, "Well, it is you, it's very much you, but I don't wanna-"

"Peter, I'd hoped you'd be a little bit more mature about this," said Erik.

"Don't make me do this. Please."

"Jesus kid," Logan snapped, "What's the big damn deal?"

Peter shifted, and, for the first time, Logan saw just how uncomfortable he was. Peter noticed him looking and gave him an almost pleading look,. He wanted him to drop it. Logan stared at him for a moment longer and, suddenly, understood.

He grinned.

"Yeah, gonna be real weird explainin ta Kurt how you mighta had ta kiss his mom for a mission," Logan said.

Peter moaned, and Raven suddenly turned away. For his part, Logan burst out laughing, right until Raven adjusted her seat so it moved back and slammed into his legs.


	13. Chapter 13

"I should've run," Peter said, "I should've run, but I didn't."

"Stop it," Raven said, shutting the car door, "You're actually making this worse."

She was wearing the guise of a dark-haired twenty-something, her face free of any lines and decorated delicately with make-up. He was glad she wasn't pretending to be some cute honey brown-haired girl. He was into those, and this would definitely have ruined that.

He readjusted the stupid disguise clothes he'd been given, looking out around him like he was on an exciting sight-seeing trip instead of something weird. At least Logan wasn't there to laugh at him, like he'd done for the past seven miles after the announcement. After that, he and Erik had gotten out, holding onto their extra bags at a hotel suitably out of Essex's reach. They'd contact the Professor there, and he'd connect them.

No one would be looking at Erik or Logan for the next few hours, staring hard. They'd be looking at him, and that meant that Peter still couldn't be properly pissed. People were already around, but Raven had told him they could probably keep talking in a low tone. So he ended up with a strange little half-measure, which just made it worse.

"This is awkward for me too," Raven muttered, "But just try to pretend like you're just another dumb tourist on his honeymoon. Don't attract attention, and we won't have to do anything."

"We left awkward behind about ten miles ago," Peter muttered, "This is gross. Major gross."

He snorted lightly.

"And, for someone who says this is awkward, you sure as shit didn't protest half as hard as me," he said.

"What was I supposed to do?" she hissed, an odd tone given the sweet smile she was suddenly wearing, "Erik's right: we're less noticeable this way. People honeymoon around here all the time, and he damn well wasn't changing his mind for your reasoning. And I couldn't change it without telling him who you were, so quit whining."

Peter turned away, trying not to sulk. Instead, he put on a placidly pleased expression as he looked around him. God, how did he end up in this situation? He wasn't one of those creepy guys who were into his friends' moms. No way. Not even if it was spy stuff.

Besides, he could almost picture Kurt's shocked expression if this ever got back to him. He didn't think it would stop him from ever talking to him, but Kurt was super religious and it would really weird him out. Hell, it was weirding Peter out. This must be some sort of cardinal sin, pretending to be married to your friend's mom.

He turned his head to remind her of that, maybe tell her he'd just pretend to faint or something if someone looked at them for too long. However, when he did, he digested her last few words, and furrowed his brow.

"Wait," he muttered, "Why would him knowing I'm his son make him not want us to pretend to be married..."

She tensed in her shoulder, no doubt already irritated with him.

"You two...have you two...were you...?" he asked.

She looked at him impatiently, and it clicked.

"I think I just threw up a little in my brain," he said.

"You need to stop," said Raven.

"Look, I don't care if you and he, whatever, because you're adults, but I do mind if I go into a situation where I might hafta kiss you after you've done that," Peter said.

"Like you'd be any good at it," she said.

At any other time, he'd be impressed by her ability to look like she was having a pleasant conversation with someone and sounding pissed. At the moment now, a new thought was making it into his brain, dwarfing everything else.

"Kurt had better not be my brother," he said.

Her eyes widened, almost breaking her perfect cover. Raven smiled sweetly, linking her arm with his while walking him to a small walkway, slightly isolated. When she was satisfied no one was around, she hit him in the stomach.

He wheezed slightly, but she put her hand on his back, no doubt pretending he was just winded or some other shit.

"Shoulda seen that one coming," he managed.

She leaned into his ear, so close that he could feel her furious breath echoing through his ear.

"Erik is not Kurt's goddamn father," she said, "And if you ever say something like that again, and in that tone-"

Then she paused, almost so she could peer at his expression.

"Did you want him to be your brother?" she asked.

Although the tone was still harsh, she did sound vaguely puzzled. The question more or less floored him though. But Peter had a talent for never really being at a loss for words, at least not for long.

"Wouldn't have minded any," he said at last, "He's really cool, and Team Lightning as siblings? Awesome. Just, if he was and you didn't tell-"

"He's not," said Raven shortly, "His father was...his father was someone else, and I've told Kurt all about him."

Kurt hadn't shared. Peter didn't mind. Fathers were a kind of private thing.

"But you need to stop goofing around and get your head straight so you don't have to do things that so clearly freak you out," Raven said.

"Okay," he said.

"And if you blow this because of whatever's going on in that stupid head of yours, I will beat you up so bad that you puke inside your head for real," she said, "Have you ever seen that?"

"Um, no."

"Good for you," she said, "Now straighten up."

He did so, feeling awkward, and more than a little cowed. She smiled brightly and straightened his shirt.

"Remember," she said, "We are Mr. and Mrs. Tate Langdon, and we are on honeymoon. We're going to enjoy ourselves, right?"

"Right," said Peter.

She linked her arm with his again, and pulled him out of the small garden. Peter gave her what he hoped was an adoring look, the picture of a newlywed couple getting ready to live happily ever after.

Truthfully, she scared him shitless.

* * *

"Dad?"

Charles looked up from his class's papers. Truthfully, he hadn't been reading them. The words had just been running in and out of his eyes like water during a rainstorm. He'd actually been contemplating giving them all grades based on completion and having done with.

He'd been having trouble concentrating on his school work. Thoughts of Moira, their little, loving son raced through his head. He thought of Erik's mission, of what Peter had said to him about Kevin before he left. He worried about his family, Peter and Erik, about his X-men, and the students who continued to live in ignorance.

But it was time to put that aside. Under normal circumstances it was difficult, almost impossible. Now though, now it was as though the wind had picked up on a day where the air was filled with heavy fog.

Seeing Kevin in the doorway, a piece of construction paper in his hand, was a blessing indeed.

"Didn't school let out an hour ago?" asked Charles, wheeling out from behind his desk, "Or is there a book report I don't know about?"

Kevin shut the door behind him and sat in one of the chairs, his hands laying flat on the yellow paper.

"Laura said Emma would get Scott to agree to drive us and anyone who wanted to come to visit mom," he said, "We were making cards. Her idea."

Charles felt a lump form in his throat.

"Yes, that's a wonderful idea," he said, "I should've thought of it myself-"

"You were busy," Kevin said, one of his fingers sliding over the paper, "You would've taken me soon anyway, but I know you can't right now. I know that...what with all the stuff in Japan, and that guy who hurt mom..."

He swallowed, and Charles once again remembered Peter's words. Charles reached out and put a hand on his cheek. Kevin wrapped his hands around his wrist, letting go of the paper.

"I was surprised when Laura told me she thought of it," he said, "She said she wanted to make me happy."

"That does sound like her," he said.

Charles paused, the headmaster in him warring for a little bit, but this was his son.

"I think she may have a little crush on you," he said.

His son flushed and looked back at the construction paper.

"Girls are gross," he said.

The words didn't really seem to have any force behind them, and even Kevin didn't seem to like them.

"She's too little to have crushes," he tried again.

"How old do you think she is?" asked Charles, "She's only two years younger than you."

Biologically.

"Right," Kevin said.

He let go of Charles's wrist and then looked down at the construction paper.

"But I was making a card," he said, "And I thought you might want to write something in it, because I know you can't come, and she'll want to hear from you."

Charles smiled, gently taking the construction paper out of his hands.

"When are you leaving?" he asked.

"We thought tomorrow, at 10:30 a.m., so I need it back before then," said Kevin, "Scott's coming, and Laura, and Emma's going to be there, obviously. I think Kurt and Amanda are too. Now that Kurt's my cousin and all, he wants to visit."

It was true. When Raven had announced Kurt's parentage, Kurt had suddenly realized he had an aunt, an uncle, and a cousin. Another cousin would be on the way soon. He'd reached out, and Kevin had been waiting, almost as curious as Kurt.

It must have come as a shock to Kurt to realize his entire family had been right next to him for so many months.

"How much room do I have?" Charles asked.

"All of one side," said Kevin, "Just fold it in half first, because it's not a card if you don't. Laura was pretty insistent on that aspect."

"Sounds like her," Charles said.

And it did. Laura had only seen most tasks done two or three ways, some only one. It was that first time that struck her, because that was the right way. Anything Emma or Logan did would override that, but she was still learning. Soon, she would have to find her own path in all things but, for now, she was still a child.

He reached back, putting the paper on his desk.

"How are you?" he asked.

"You know," Kevin said, "You feel it too. I know you do."

Charles pulled him close, and Kevin leaned in closer.

"I know," he said, "I want things so badly to be normal for you to be good. I..."

He swallowed hard.

"I never wanted anything like this to happen," Charles said, "I...when she first brought you here, I thought things might get better. When you called me dad, I..."

"They'll get better," said Kevin.

His voice seemed soft, but quietly certain.

"I've already got a little brother on the way and...for the first time, I've got a dad as well as a mom," Kevin said, "I have friends. I just...we just need a few things, and then it's gonna be great. I just need to wait, right? And then it'll be fine."

Charles rocked him back and forth silently, praying that it would. Kevin was right: he did have more now. They all did. But one thing Charles had learned was that having more things just meant more could be taken away.

He'd learned that the hard way, just as Erik had. But they, like Erik, had a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Kevin was right: they would just have to wait it out.


	14. Chapter 14

Getting Laura cleaned up for the hospital visit was easier than Emma had anticipated. She was too happy to stay still, but she wasn't fighting her. Emma suspected Laura liked dressing up, being pretty. It reminded her of games she'd played with her sister when they were younger, only Kayla had let her wear her lipstick when she asked. Laura was too young.

She pulled Laura's hair into a ponytail, smiling when Laura tried to loosen it. Laura gave herself a quick nod in the mirror before grabbing the card she'd made on the dresser. It was somewhat sloppy, but the point of "Get Well" cards wasn't prettiness. It was about the thought, or so she'd been told.

"Should I go downstairs?" asked Laura, "I don't wanna be late."

"We have fifteen minutes before we leave," said Emma.

Laura jumped from one foot to the other. From her position on her bunk, Megan giggled.

"You're fidgety Laura," she said, "I'm almost glad there's not room for me. You'd be bouncing everywhere."

There was a pause, and hurt flickered over Laura's face.

"I'm joking," Megan said, her words rushed.

The hurt disappeared and Emma gave Megan a grateful look. The child rarely forgot that Laura didn't always understand how changing inflection changed words and, if she thought she'd caused hurt, she would eagerly drop balm.

Megan climbed down from the bunk, her small feet hitting the ground. Amanda, who'd been sitting on the bottom bunk, held out a hand to steady her. Megan took it, smiling, and then let go, walking over to Laura.

"If you're going down, I could go down too," she said, "Just to see you off and make sure Kevin remembers to tell his mom I said hi and I hope she gets well."

"You already told me to tell her," said Laura.

"I want it said by both of you," said Megan, "It's nice that way."

Laura frowned, then nodded, another thing she didn't understand and, as a consequence, was dismissing. If only it were that easy for Emma. Her niece turned, smiling sweetly, and Emma caved. When had she started turning to jelly for Laura?

Probably the moment she saw her.

"I'll be down in eight minutes exactly," said Emma, "And no roughhousing."

"I promise!" Laura said.

She waved, but she was already halfway out the door. Megan eagerly followed after her, and Amanda smiled.

"I remember when Laura didn't even want to leave the room," said Amanda, "I assumed she was just scared of all the people, but then I thought it was the space. Now...I'm not sure much scares her."

"Trust me, there's plenty," Emma said, "It's just...she gets kind of fearless when she thinks she's making someone else happy."

Amanda turned in her bed, cocking her head. Her long golden hair fell over her shoulder when she did. Sometimes Emma was jealous of it. It was so much healthier than her own hair, which was pale, straight and thin from malnutrition. It was growing stronger, and had gotten to the point where most people wouldn't know there was an issue. Her bones and sharp angles were much more noticeable.

But still, sometimes.

"Thinks she's making someone happy?" asked Amanda, "I'm pretty sure Kevin was touched she thought of this."

"No doubt he was," Emma said, "But being touched isn't the same as being happy. You know that."

"Do I?" asked Amanda.

Emma raised her eyebrows, and Amanda got up from her bed. She walked over to the window, leaning out of it. Emma knew Scott had driven his car around front, doubtlessly filling it up with flowers and all of the other little things everyone wanted to give Moira.

"You know, I saw Kurt this morning," Amanda said, "He was kind of nervous about going out somewhere as public as this after his injury. There...there might be a lot of stairs."

A brief pang flared inside her. She hadn't thought of that. She'd known Kurt would jump at the chance to go, had been counting on him to make up the party, but she hadn't thought about his injury. Now that she was, she realized he was just about to the point where he didn't need assistance to move around anymore.

Having someone there to assist him, stay by his side and make sure he didn't falter, would have been good.

"I uh...I...maybe we could, I don't know," Emma said blandly, searching for words, "If you...I don't know how many seats there are but..."

"There aren't enough," Amanda said, sighing, "And you won't offer me your seat."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek.

"I...Laura really wanted to go," she said.

It was the closest to an apology she could give her. Amanda swallowed for a moment, no doubt struggling, as Emma would struggle if she was told to stay behind. The difference between her and Amanda was that Amanda didn't start screaming.

Instead, she gave a brief nod.

"Part of me wanted him to stay, it hasn't been that long since he got shot, and his mother's out doing...hero things," she said, "I didn't ask him to though, because he really wanted to go out and see his aunt."

She shook her head.

"He's so vulnerable sometimes, so good, and sometimes I wonder how I ended up with him," Amanda said, "But, with all those nerves jumping around inside of him, I hope she appreciates that he came out anyway. But, even if she doesn't, she'll be touched that he's there. That's happiness, more or less."

"More or less?" asked Emma.

Amanda looked over her shoulder at her, smiling.

"People like us take what we can get sometimes," she said, "You know that."

People like us. Emma adjusted her sweater nervously before looking at her watch. She had a few more minutes.

"How have you been holding up?" she asked, "What with...everything that's been going on?"

"You mean my boyfriend going through physical therapy and finding out his mom is famous?" asked Amanda, smiling, "Better than you'd think. There are people out there with bigger problems."

"Bigger than him getting shot?" asked Emma.

The smile slipped off Amanda's face.

"No," she said, "Not that. No one...that was...he's fine, I know he's fine, and he...I wasn't there when we didn't know he wouldn't be fine. Dr. McCoy told me when it happened, and do you know where I was? I was in calculus."

She leaned against the window sill.

"He could've died, and I was in calculus," she said, "And now, every time I go to calculus now, a little part of me..."

Amanda shook her head, her eyes blinking rapidly.

"Please make sure he doesn't fall over when he goes out there?" she asked.

Emma nodded, recognizing the words as a dismissal. In any case, her time was up. She'd have to chaperone Laura, and now she'd have to make sure Kurt didn't do anything stupid. Hopefully she'd be able to get some help from Scott.

As she walked through the hall, she wondered about what her friend had said. Take what you can get. Her sister was trapped somewhere, a prisoner in her won body. Laura's father was gone, and Laura had never been blessed with a normal childhood.

At the same time, she was taking care of Laura, who was growing up beautifully. No one was trying to vivisect Emma anymore, so life was definitely better. Yes, she knew that, sometimes, you had to take what you could get.

But she also knew it didn't stop you from wanting more.

* * *

Peter cracked his neck. Raven and he had spent the night in the village at one of the small hostels. He'd slept on the floor, because there wasn't a couch, and he didn't want to fight over the bed.. Besides, he really would rather sleep on the floor than get her angry again.

She'd gone over to the front desk to discuss something or other, maybe pretend to ask about good sightseeing places. She'd told him anywhere out of the way would likely be where they would have something set up to establish a perimeter for the factory.

He'd stepped outside on one of the benches to get some fresh air. Peter looked over his shoulder, and saw she was still there, still talking. He sighed and leaned back on the bench, cracking his neck again and trying not to get a cramp.

Fast footsteps reached his ears and he opened his eyes a crack. A young girl was running down the street in a shin-length black dress, chasing a ball. She wasn't moving very fast, probably because she was being very careful not to fall and trip. It was probably the most self-conscious run he'd ever seen.

He watched her for a minute and then cracked his neck again. Peter thought of all the kids at the Institute. His teaching certificate was actually going along pretty good and, in less than a year, he'd be teaching art.

He'd be good at it, or at least the Professor told him he would. He'd already started to plan out some of the art projects, including shoes. He smiled at that thought. Yeah, it'd be easy to get a ton of old shoes, let them go crazy on them. It'd be a good bonding experience for the kids.

The ball rolled toward him, bumping his foot. The girl stopped for a minute, looking at him with worried eyes. He gave her his silliest grin, most of the kids at the school found it pretty disarming, and the girl gave him a tentative smile back.

Peter reached down and held out the ball to her.

"This is yours, right?" he asked.

He knew she probably wouldn't understand him, but he'd been instructed only to speak scraps of Japanese, and badly. He was a dumb tourist after all. Not that he actually knew any good Japanese besides what Raven had taught him.

"Yes sir," she said.

He grinned. So she spoke English. The girl held out her hands and he placed the ball into them.

"Awesome," he said, "Don't run into any walls or anything next time you chase this. You're so small, you'd probably slip through the cracks."

The girl's smile widened, although it was still tentative. Another girl ran around the corner, a year or two older, her red hair flying out behind her. She was dressed identically to the other girl, and eyed Peter distrustfully as she caught up.

She said something to the other girl, who gave a small shrug and replied. He didn't understand either of them, and then the red-headed girl looked back at him. Her eyes were sharp and, combined with her brilliantly red hair, it was unnerving. There was just something piercing in her eyes that made him want to look away.

He didn't though, because he wasn't going to be outstared by a kid.

"Mari tells me you're funny," she said at last, "Say something funny."

Her demanding tone was a little off-putting, but he didn't think it was irritating. It would probably get on a lot of people's nerves though, people like Logan's, but that just meant he had to do a better job.

"Me?" he asked, "No, I'm actually really serious. Look at this face."

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, then he suddenly crossed his eyes. She blinked, unimpressed.

"Oh, not good enough, huh?" he asked, "You're definitely the most serious kid I met, so I guess I have to try a little bit harder."

He coughed, schooling his face into a serious expression, and then jerked his head to the side. He crossed his eyes and stuck her tongue out. His hands moved by his head, giving himself moose antlers and wriggling his fingers.

She smiled and he punched the air.

"You smiled, I win!" he said.

Both of them smiled then, and he leaned back, satisfied. The red-haired girl took Mari's hand and nodded.

"We need to go meet our nanny for today," she said, "Enjoy your time here."

"Sure thing," Peter said, "And keep laughing. I'm sure people like it when you laugh. Mari, you like it when she laughs, right?"

Mari nodded, and the red-headed child smiled slightly.

"You are nice," she said, "Mari, come on."

He watched the two of them walk down the street for a minute, feeling proud of himself. He got up, cracking his neck. Yeah, he'd do the shoes first. Girls like that could've had fun doing his shoe project, he knew it.

As he headed back to the hotel, he saw the two of them meet someone at the end of the street. Inside, ice filled his veins, but he kept walking. His mind was on overdrive, thinking about the cell phone Raven had in her backpack, of the people they needed to alert.

He wrapped his arm around her immediately when he reached her side, walking her toward the back entrance. She smiled at him, but he could see the way her eyebrow twitched. He didn't speak until they were outside on the street.

"What's wrong?" she muttered.

He swallowed.

"There were these two girls who said they were going to meet their nanny," he said in a rush, "And they walked down the street and met Kayla."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Sorry this chapter is late. We'll get back to a more regular schedule tomorrow._


	15. Chapter 15

The phone in his pocket began vibrating. Erik picked it up and put it to his ear. He hadn't heard from Peter and Raven since their last check-in, which had lasted only seconds. He knew that Logan was getting anxious, and he wasn't the only one.

However, he'd been contenting himself with the knowledge that this was how the mission was supposed to run. They needed reconnaissance before they could move in, and they had a poor lay of the land at the moment. They'd know more after Peter and Raven returned with a map. Until then they would have to content themselves with the check-ins.

The fact that the phone was buzzing outside of check-in time caused him a momentary pang of fear, followed by a wave of calmness. It had been far too long since he'd done a mission like this, and he ruefully reflected that contact, more often than not, was just about information.

So he clicked open the phone, remaining calm.

"I'm here-"

"You'll never believe it!" Peter shouted, "I saw her walking down the street. With like, kids! Two of them!"

"Peter, calm down!" snapped Erik.

There was harried breathing, and the sound of what he could only assume was the sound of Raven trying to get Peter to speak slowly. Logan, who had been staring at him intently to begin with, was now looking with narrowed eyes.

"Alright," said Erik, "Now, who did you see?"

"Laura's mom, Kayla."

He looked over at Logan, but judging by the lack of color in his face, he'd heard.

"Where?" he growled.

"Peter, hold on for a minute," said Erik.

"It was weird! She was a nanny!"

He expected more, but, apparently, Peter had just needed to get that out of his system. He rested the phone in the crook of his neck and made eye contact with Logan. The man's breathing was shallow, his hands already curling into fists.

"Our number one priority is making sure we know where Essex and Stryker are, and how we can stop them," he said.

A harsh flicker sparked in Logan's eyes, and Erik took a deep breath.

"I won't jeopardize everything to get back Kayla," he said.

"She's been a prisoner in her own damn body for five months," Logan snarled.

"Understood," said Erik, "And she might've had a chance to escape that when you saw her at Westchester: Charles told me. But she chose instead to let you and Laura go, because she understood, like she would understand now."

The look Logan gave him wasn't one of understanding, but he can still hear movement on the other end of the phone. It's then that he realized they needed to get off the phone. He doesn't know if Essex had any sort of phone tracking technology, or if there's an advanced wiretapping in the area he doesn't know of. It's paranoid, but he can't afford to be complacent.

He needed to get the information, then get off the phone.

"Peter, where did she go?" he asked.

"Down the street," Peter said, "I can't...I...I needed to talk to Raven, right? Going off on my own could've resulted in a trap, right?"

"You did the right thing," replied Erik, "Can you give me a direction?"

"Um, sort of in the direction of the mountain," said Peter.

"Can you describe the two girls?"

"Yeah," Peter said.

He heard him swallow, no doubt closing his eyes so he could concentrate. Erik wanted to tell him to hurry up, that every minute spent on the phone was probably putting them in danger, but he couldn't. They needed descriptions, more than just superficial ones. Saying they were two little girls wouldn't suffice, not when they could be a vital clue as to what was going on.

"One of them was four," said Peter, "Maybe five. She was Asian, really pale, delicate. She wore this black, little kid dress...nice material. Kind of expensive."

It was a good detail to remember. He wanted to be impressed, but the seconds were ticking away.

"And she was tiny, even for a child that age," Peter said, "She ran around like she was thought that, if she fell, she was gonna break something."

Another good detail, but perhaps a little more to the girl's personality than to something they could use to identify her.

"And the other girl?" he asked.

"She was a year or two older," he said, "Dressed exactly the same. Asian again, but her skin wasn't pale, and she's not delicate or tiny. They didn't look or act alike at all. She really direct, not scared at all or small, and she had this bright red hair-"

"Bright red hair?" asked Erik, "Asian, but bright red hair?"

"Yeah," Peter said.

He sounded as though he was suddenly realizing there was something unusual with that. Erik strode to the other end of the room and flung open his file on the Yashida family. He could feel Logan's eyes drilling into his back when he did.

"That's not common, is it?" Peter asked.

"No," he said, flipping to the desired page in his file, "Red hair, around six? Same expensive looking, plain dress?"

"Yep," said Peter, "She was super serious too."

"I'd imagine she would be, given that she grew up on the streets," Erik said.

"Wait, seriously?" asked Peter.

"Yes, I believe so," said Erik, "Contact the school and tell Charles where you found Kayla, try to see if he can track her. If he can't get inside her head, can't find her, tell him to try Yashida's granddaughter and the mutant he brought in to play her pet. They'll be close by."

* * *

The cell phone ringing on Charles's desk brought him out of his thoughts, which were currently with his son. But his thoughts were swirling and moving with him, driving away to a hospital where his wife was resting. It was almost frightening, how loud and sharp the sound of the phone was, but he picked it up quickly.

"This is Charles," he said.

"It's Raven," she said, "We found Kayla, and we need to find out what's going on without getting too close."

All of the moving, traveling thoughts in his head stood still. His thoughts withdrew from Moira, having only brushed her in his mind. They crept away from his son, all of it painfully so, and drew back into his head.

He leaned his head over to the side, trapping the cell phone between his neck and his ear. Charles began rolling down the hallway, taking the elevator toward Cerebro. The hallway felt empty with so many of the X-men gone, but he was hyper-aware that there were still plenty of students. He'd have to keep his voice low.

"Where?" he asked, getting into the elevator and pressing the appropriate floor.

"Down the main street," said Raven, "Peter said she was with two girls. One called her their nanny."

That drew him up short. The elevator doors closed and he shifted his grip of the phone.

"Nanny?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Raven, "I don't know why the hell Essex is shipping out his mercenaries as nannies. Erik thinks one of the girls might be Yashida's granddaughter. It's likely, given the company, but we need to know for sure. We need to figure out anything we can."

"I understand," Charles said, "I'll find out as much as I can, and I'll give you a call back."

"Be careful," said Raven.

"I could say that for you too," Charles said.

"And you often do. I have to go now."

"I'll talk to you soon."

She didn't answer, and he's left with silence as the elevator doors open. Charles didn't dwell on it though, because he knew he had to get moving. The search area had been significantly narrowed, but that didn't mean everything would be a done deal. Finding Kayla and breaking through her drug-induced barriers, even with Cerebro, wouldn't be easy.

He pushed himself the rest of the way down the hall, booting up Cerebro in silence. He hoped Erik would be able to keep Logan in control of himself long enough to actually get Kayla back. It would be just like the feral to charge after her, no thought in his head besides bringing Kayla home to her daughter. Charles rubbed his face, wondering when life had gotten to the point when he had to fight to save someone from a trap inside their head, to reunite a family that had never existed.

He placed the helmet on his head, and let his mind fill the room, creeping beyond the borders of Westchester, the state, the country. He saw the minds flitting about him of humans, people going on their way every day inside that small village, oblivious to the pain caused all around them.

Charles caught the small group as they walked into Yashida's mansion. The older of the two girls glowed, and the name Yukio slid into mind. Next to her, Mariko reached out and grabbed her friend's hand. She was small, timid, but happy to have a friend.

Kayla's mind felt as impenetrable as ever though and, truthfully, that was what he was worried about. He couldn't try to break into her head when too many people were around, since it might alert guards to his presence. As it was, he only had a tenuous grasp on the walls of her mind.

When they passed into the girls' room and Kayla sat down, Charles saw his chance. He pushed inside, and saw Kayla twitch slightly. The same webs he'd encountered before barred him from complete access, almost mocking him. He gnashed his teeth together, peeling them away.

From somewhere distant, he heard a voice call him. He increased his efforts, slogging through what felt like a forest of mud. Every now and then the drug's tendrils would snap at his own mind. He slapped them away before they got too close, made easier by Cerebro's strength.

In his mind's eye, he could see other people coming into the room. Mariko was being led out by her father while Yukio stood where she was, looking at the incoming businessmen with a cold eye. It wasn't the look of a child.

He would have to hurry. Blood was already dripping down his nose and, coupled with what he knew about the drug in Kayla's system, she might be due for another does soon.

 _Kayla._

He could hear her, a distant voice weeping.

 _Charles...you have to leave_ , she whispered, _He's coming, and he'll know you're here. He wants to take a look at her himself._

 _What do you mean? For experimentation?_

 _No. Yashida won't allow it. But the girl...Essex and Stryker think she might be able to see the future,_ Kayla said, _Essex thinks it's an odd quirk of her mutation._

The assertion stunned him but, in truth, he knew he shouldn't be surprised. Someday in the future, he'd meet a woman with the ability to send someone back in time. Besides, surprise, like so much else, could take a backseat.

Truthfully, what he was worried about was the idea of Essex having a mutant with the ability to predict their moves.

 _We need to get her out before he can ask too many questions,_ Charles said, _Has he already spoken to her?_

 _Not yet. He has me watching them because he knows I can't not protect them,_ Kayla murmured, _But Charles, he talks about Laura almost daily. He has a calendar for your son. He wants them both back, and Yashida's been saying things about Logan-_

 _So they are working together?_ asked Charles, fighting rising revulsion, _Is that the new base of operations?_

 _Yes,_ Kayla said, _Charles, I..._

Her words faltered, and he could almost feel her nausea.

 _I don't feel good_ , she said, _I don't...I feel like my mind's about to be sick...Charles, I don't think...I think..._

 _Kayla?_

Her mind blurred in his grasp as footsteps moved down the hall.

 _Charles, he's not mass-producing the collars,_ she said, _I'm too valuable to lose in his eyes but...when they come, they need to leave me._

 _Logan won't allow that._

 _He might not have a choice. Charles-_

A deep, hacking noise shook his vision. He realized that Kayla was coughing, and he moved his view slightly out of her mind so he could see. Yukio was staring at Kayla, and they watched in horror together as blood splattered from her lips across her legs and hands.

 _Charles...healing factor or no...I think this serum's killing me,_ she said, _I think I may be dead already: I just haven't stopped breathing._


	16. Chapter 16

The news about the girls came through the phone like prickles of electricity on her skin. Raven looked over her shoulder at Peter, who was anxiously hopping from one foot to the other. He knew he needed to be ready to run: he just needed to know where to go.

But he didn't know what she knew, what was about to happen. Her brother's voice drifted through the phone at her ear, and she memorized the address. If they were lucky, Peter could be in and out in a matter of seconds.

She waited until her brother was finished talking before she turned to Peter.

"Charles told me Essex is with her now, and that he's going to be asking her questions about the future," Raven said, "That's her mutation. We need to get in there as soon as possible-"

"And do what?" asked Peter, aghast, "Kidnap a kid?"

She sighed, frustrated. The answer was on the tip of her tongue, bitter.

"Yes," she said.

He gaped at her, and she wanted to slap him for his innocence. She also wanted to dig her fingers into her arm for knowing what their next step was. Just as Peter hadn't wanted to do anything he wouldn't be able to tell Kurt about, she had wanted to walk away from the mission with her head held high.

Her son had a ridiculous image of her as someone who, yes, had done some bad things in the past, but was a good person. He truly believed she would always try t do the right thing. He was like Charles in that way, and knowing she would have to kidnap one, possibly two, children, wasn't really something he'd understand.

Charles's voice was coming through on the other end, but his words felt fuzzy, mired in the guilt. Peter's dark eyes were getting bigger by the second.

"Don't look at me like that," snapped Raven, "You can't afford to be this naive."

"I don't wanna do that," Peter said, "You can't make me."

"Peter, be realistic!" she hissed.

"Don't touch the children," said Charles on the other end of the phone, "We remove them now and we start a war, probably get the authorities involved-"

"Charles, what do you suggest?" she hissed, "I'm not going to trade the lives of my nephews and my son for Yashida's granddaughters. Do you understand that?"

"Just give me five minutes," Charles said, "Have a back-up plan in place if you have to, but give me five minutes before you send Peter in!"

"Erik won't accept that, and I won't either," snapped Raven, "Charles, we won't hurt her! We just need to-"

"Take her away from her home and family?" asked Charles, "I have a different way. I can convince her otherwise."

"Convince her to lie to the people who took her in?" demanded Raven, "They're her family. You're just some disembodied voice!"

Suddenly, she felt someone at her elbow. Peter was standing close, practically pressing his face to the phone in an attempt to hear.

"I'll help Prof, but I won't kidnap kids," Peter said, "I wanna be a teacher!"

His voice was plaintive and pleading. She could almost hear her own voice in her head: _I don't want to kidnap kids. I wanna be a mother!_

"What do you have in mind?" asked Raven.

"Listen, if we play our cards right, we can save everyone," said Charles, "Call Erik and tell him we have to trap them, because I don't know how this will turn out. I can't do this with Essex in the room. It'll jeopardize the child too if she agrees to help."

"What do you want?" asked Peter.

"A distraction," Charles replied, "Move fast."

* * *

Kayla could feel her soul straining to hold together. The splatters of blood were still warm and slick on her lap and hands. Yukio was looking at her in fear, having rushed to her side and dug her tiny fingers into her leg.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

She wanted to help. Kayla wanted to reach out, to tell her it was alright, because what else could she tell her? But she couldn't, because Essex had told her not to speak to the children unless absolutely necessary. As such, her tongue was frozen.

Instead, she looked long at the little girl. She was Laura's age, if she was any judge. She'd only glimpsed her daughter in the woods, cuddled up in Logan's arms. Kayla wished she could've gotten a better angle, have really seen her face, because she knew she wasn't going to get that chance again.

The door opened and Essex walked in. Yukio pointed at Kayla, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Sir, she's hurt," Yukio said.

"No, that's just part of her mutation," said Essex, "And Kayla, what did I say about doing this in public? You should apologize."

"I am sorry sir," said Kayla.

The words stirred some of the remaining blood in her mouth. She wished she had the strength to get up and rip Essex's face off. He just smiled though, no doubt guessing her thoughts as he sat down and beckoned to Yukio.

He glanced down at his clipboard immediately after, but Kayla kept looking at the child. Her big eyes were hard: she knew he was full of shit. The realization hit Kayla like a ton of bricks, but it came nonetheless. Yukio was far from stupid, and she could tell that something was off with Essex.

Or, given her mutation, she might have seen this room before, seen these people. In fact, she was only taking small steps toward Essex, who looked up at her mildly. Was she stalling for something?

"Have a seat," he said.

"Is Mari nearby?" asked Yukio, "I'm not supposed to go too far."

"She is near," said Essex, "Now have a seat."

Yukio brushed some of her hair away from her face, her expression calm. As she did, a splatter of gunfire went off from outside. Essex looked up and swore to himself as he did so. Yukio had also turned to look, but Kayla realized that she didn't seem worried at all.

"Kayla, watch the girl," he said, "Make sure no one touches her."

"Yes sir," Kayla said.

He left the room, hurrying down the hall. Once was gone Yukio jumped onto her feet, once again holding onto her leg where the blood was.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, "Did he do this?"

Something warm and comforting pierced through her mind.

 _Yes,_ Charles said, _He did._

* * *

He could see the little girl's eyes widen, unused to a voice in her head. But he didn't feel surprise at his presence from her, only a sense of disquiet from the sensation.

 _You knew I was coming, didn't you?_

 _I know you have the funny speedy boy running around,_ she said _, They think he's trying to break in, but he's not. He's trying to distract them. He's causing trouble for Mari's grandfather. I know that the metal man is going to disrupt the power generators for the next few days, break all the power and fuel lines coming in. It'll cause the toll roads to shut down, leaving only one path. He knows we can't call for more supplies without bringing the authorities. Even Mari's grandfather doesn't have enough power to brush off having to call that in._

He was impressed. Had Erik really thought that plan up that quickly? Had it been something he'd been considering for a long time, or had he just had to improvise after Peter told him he was going to go in and give Charles the chance he needed?

Either way, he was glad to once again have his friend with him.

 _So why haven't you told someone?_ asked Charles.

 _Because I knew you would try to convince me not to,_ Yukio snorted, _And I wanted to see what you think you could possibly say to make me go against Mari's grandfather. And when it doesn't work, I will tell him where everyone is. I'll tell him where the speedy boy is, even though they will kill him and he made Mari smile. Bad people can still make people smile._

Charles winced. He hadn't quite expected this level of harshness from the child, especially after she had tried to help Kayla. However, he could see that there was a wariness there that he'd never seen before, a child who hadn't just seen too much of the world: she'd seen everything it could be too.

But she was still a child, one who cared about others. It meant that, no matter what, she still had some compassion left. And that meant that he could talk to her, like he'd talked to Erik over all those years.

 _The woman in front of you has a daughter, your age,_ said Charles.

 _Terrible things can happen to children at any age,_ Yukio said, her voice growing sharper.

She didn't want to talk to him, he realized. In some way, Yukio had already made up her mind. She'd said it herself, there was nothing he could say.

Luckily, he had more in his toolbox than words.

 _I know that all too well,_ Charles said, _But Laura's different._

He could feel Yukio's suspicion spike, but he let his memories flow through her. She blinked, surprised again at the sensation, but then-

 _Laura was laying on the floor, her head on Kevin's shoulder as Emma burst into the room. Kevin's face was sweating and shaking, smeared with blood, his expression one of severe shell-shock. Moira sat next to him, a task he himself couldn't do, one arm around their son. Next to her Hank was digging through his bag, hunting for something, anything that could help._

 _Blood puddled all around them, every now and then a soft whimper coming from Laura's lips. Emma swallowed and sat next to Laura. He felt Yukio step next to him, her eyes wide and frightened. He wished he didn't have to show her, to spare her whatever innocence he could, but she needed to understand._

 _"Sorry Aunt Emma..." Laura mumbled._

 _"Don't be sorry," said Emma, her words thick, "I...you haven't done anything wrong."_

 _Laura just looked at her woozily. Emma smiled and kissed her forehead. Yukio walked closer, watching the scene unfold._

 _"He did this to her, the girl?" she asked._

 _"Yes."_

 _"Why?" asked Yukio._

 _Charles, free from his wheelchair, walked closer. In his memory, he was begging Emma to tell him what she knew of her niece's past._

 _"He wanted to make a mutant," he said, "So he took her, styled her just the way he wanted. But her aunt, the blonde woman, rescued her. She'd been tortured by him too, forced to be separated from her family, her sister."_

 _He bit his lip as Hank began breaking the bones. Kevin jolted at the first crack, Moira's hands clasped over his ears. His son had heard the snap though, the first crunch. God, what had he been through this past year?_

 _"Why is he doing that?" asked Yukio._

 _"Hank's trying to save her life," said Charles, "Something went wrong with what Essex tried to do, and it was killing her. He needed to reset the bones."_

 _Yukio pointed at Laura._

 _"Will he do this again if I help him?" she said, "Essex?"_

 _"Yes," said Charles, "He will take her, and she will never know her mother. She will be just like the woman you see before you, controlled by someone else, locked up in her own mind. She will be destroyed."_

 _The girl clasped her hands in front of her, blinking back tears. Her hands clutched the side of her face, and she began rocking back and forth on her heels._

 _"Yukio," Charles said, "I know this is hard, but-"_

 _"Shhh," she said._

 _Charles quieted, confused. She was murmuring things under her breath, moving into a crouch, still rocking back and forth._

 _"He's going to come for you again," she said at last, "But not until after the baby's born, at least not right now. He'll ask me where the baby is. I'll tell him it's at the school, not the hospital. He wants to put the collars into mass production, but something in the serum is badly affecting the woman in front of him. He thinks it's destroying her throat, making it difficult for her to breathe. He dares not take it off her but he won't make any more until he's sure they work."_

 _She opened her eyes and looked at him._

 _"But when he asks, I will lie," she said, "I will lie, but you must protect me and Mari to make sure nothing happens to us if things go wrong. She is my sister. You must protect us. And you must bring Laura her mother."_

 _"Thank you," Charles said, "I know this is difficult for you."_

 _The girl looked over at Laura again, still blinking back tears._

 _"You have no idea. You made me betray Mari's grandfather," she said harshly, "I don't want to talk to you anymore. Just keep your promise, take care of your children, and tell Speedy boy he has to come now if he wants to get Kayla back. They don't know it's him, so they're not protecting properly. Most of the others are up at the factory. He won't get another chance this good, but he may not like what happens."  
_

 _"What?"_

 _"She'll attack, go for his face," said Yukio, "I'm saying this because he made Mari laugh. That's hard."_

 _"I'm not sure-"_

 _"I don't want to talk to you!" she screamed, "I won't look, won't tell you! GO AWAY!"_

Charles withdrew, and saw the girl's bright light in Cerebro as she raced for the closet. It would be a good place for her to pretend to have sought refuge for what happened next. He pondered what to do for a moment, whether he could truly call Peter. It would let them know that he was there, would increase the risk for the next part of their task.

 _Peter?_ he asked.

 _Yeah Prof?_ asked Peter _, I just finished making a lap around the building. How's it going?  
_

 _Peter, you have a window of time for Kayla,_ said Charles, _Don't go just yet, but she's in the third bedroom off the main hallway. I think something bad might happen to you though. She's going to attack, aim for your face. Peter...I can't..._

There was a pause, and he could almost feel Peter bite his lip.

 _If I do die, don't tell my dad who I was,_ said Peter, _I don't think he could take another dead kid._

 _Peter-_

 _I'm bringing Laura's mom home. Tell Raven I'm coming.  
_

He held onto Peter's mind as he raced into the room, grabbing Kayla by the arm. Charles saw her whip around, the drug still pulling on her. A knife flashed in her hand, slashing toward Peter's face as he sped them away.


	17. Chapter 17

_Raven, Peter is coming to you with Kayla, and he is coming_ ** _NOW_** _!_

Raven whipped around almost as though she might be able to see Peter if she looked hard enough. However, he wasn't there yet, but when he would, he would bring down a mercenary-trained woman who thought nothing of her safety or that of others.

And Raven would need to make sure she took her down without killing her.

"Shit," she said.

However, she was already thinking, reaching for anything in the hotel room. Why did he have to bring her here? Why wasn't there time to get word of where Erik and Logan were? They'd called her!

She pushed those thoughts down though, because they weren't any good at the end of the day. Her mind was racing, knowing that every millisecond could bring Peter and, every second after that, Yashida and Essex's men.

Irritably, she pushed aside the weapons she'd brought for the mission. The gun was out because, even with a healing factor, the type of gunshot she was likely to inflict wouldn't be something she could walk away from. She'd been trained to go for legs, which could keep them down. However, Kayla would still try to kill them and, with her skills, she would still be a threat.

Instead she looked at her drawstring backpack. She lunged for it, ripping the chord out of the sack just as she heard the wind rattle the room.

"Sonuvafreakinbitch!"

She turned just in time to see Kayla slam Peter's face into the wall. There was a crunch, and a cry. Broken nose or broken skull? No time to figure it out. She had to move, and trust that she'd be able to help Peter later.

Raven wrapped the chord around either of her hands, tossing it over Kayla's throat. She'd have to be careful, keep her out for just long enough. It was a risk, even if she'd been in a situation where time was a luxury.

But it wasn't, and she tightened. Kayla immediately jerked back, and she saw Peter slump to the floor. Blood was flowing down his face, and his his hand too as he weakly pawed at his forehead. Again, the thought tittered through her mind, broken nose or broken skull?

Kayla was trying to jerk her off though, even trying to worm her fingers through the chord. Raven swallowed, because she didn't know how to do this without drawing it tighter. It was already burning her hands as it was. If she went too tight, she might break Kayla's neck, although she wasn't sure if that would matter. She'd survived being clawed up, maybe she could survive that.

There was another little voice though, one that seemed to laugh at her from a beach in Cuba.

 _She might live yes. Who's to say it'll heal right though? Who's to say she'll be able to move her arms and hold her daughter, run after her like Charles can't run after Kevin?_

"Shit," Raven growled.

Gritting her teeth she dug her feet into Kayla's back, leaning her head forward as Kayla slammed her into the wall. She just managed to avoid getting her head hit, but she could feel the damn rope slipping around Kayla's neck.

Her eyes fell on the collar that still tethered Kayla to Essex. She blinked at it, and then Kayla was shoving her into another wall. It hurt, but she had a path now. Raven loosened her grip briefly, skipping the rope down. It caught on the metal of the collar, securing it in place. She grinned as she tightened her grip, feeling Kayla begin to slow. Her hands were bleeding now, but she was still winning.

Then she saw herself staring at the barrel of a gun.

She stared at it for a minute, unable to loosen her grip, to knock it away. Goddamnit, when did she get that? How did she have the presence of mind to turn it like that, make sure it was angled just right for maximum pain?

A dull thought came that she had probably learned it like Raven had learned it, and it only infuriated her. She jerked the rope to the left, and the gun went off, hitting the ceiling. Kayla tried to fire another shot, but her movements were getting slower and slower.

She collapsed onto the floor. Raven kept her burned, bleeding hands on the rope, moving her to make sure she really was out. Once she was satisfied she took the rope off, wincing with every movement.

Raven knelt down, tying Kayla's hands behind her back. She'd just finished when the door opened and the innkeeper looked in, horrified. She started to get up, wondering how she could stop him because, goddammit, she had not just gone through all that to have his screams wake up the entire building.

But then he was on the floor, duct tape thick around his lips, hands and feet. The silver was streaked with blood though and she turned. Peter was up, blood dripping from his nose and a deep cut on his forehead. It was trickling over his goggles, clouding the lens.

More cuts were on his arm and hand. A knife had bit through the glove, and Raven thought of the bone there as she hoisted Kayla to her feet.

"You brought duct tape?" she asked, her mouth dry.

"Never leave home without it," Peter sniffed.

He wiped blood away from his nose, wincing as he did.

"Peter, what year is it?" she asked.

"1983," he said, looking at her funny.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, displaying four.

"Four and why- hey! I'm not freakin concussed," Peter said, "Stupid. You..."

"Just checking," she said, "We need to get to Logan and Erik before someone gets the police. The shot alone is going to bring them flocking to this place."

He nodded as she reached him. She practically tossed Kayla into his other arm, keeping her head down so he wouldn't have to protect her from whiplash. There was a blur, and she was deposited rather unsteadily in front of the car.

Peter all but dumped Kayla on Raven. She would've been angry, but she could see the way he was swaying.

"Shit," Peter said, rubbing the blood off his lens and putting one hand on the car for support, "I don't feel so hot. Well, I do. but..."

For the first time, she realized Peter was sweating. He didn't sweat. He could break the sound barrier without sweating. She stared at him for a moment and, as he turned, she saw the side she hadn't seen earlier, the one slick with blood.

His hand, apparently, had taken a bigger hit than she'd thought.

"Jesus Christ Peter!" she hissed.

"We're in the open," he muttered, "I'm Tate."

"You're bleeding out goddammit!" she snarled, "Cover, blown! You..."

She could see that he didn't quite understand her, and she knows exactly what that means. Raven is already swearing in her head, wishing they had a third person, because this was too much. How can this even happen?

"Duct tape her hands, ankles, mouth for good measure, and dump her in the back," Raven hissed, "And then get in the goddamn car."

He nods, and she can hear him swooshing to obey. Raven gets in the driver's seat, but he's already in the passenger's seat. The sweat on his brow is increasing, and she realizes that the confusion is starting to fade. Instead, he's trying to hold it together.

Raven shoved the key into the ignition, yanking it so the engine revs to life. She can hear the distant sirens of the police, and she shoves on the gas as they roar down the street. Sweat is gathering between her fingertips, where there's still blood.

"Peter, how good is your healing factor?" she asked.

"What?"

"How fast do you heal?" she snapped.

He looked ahead of him, thinking, but every now and then she could see a dazed look fill his eyes. She snapped her fingers, and his eyes widened.

"Um, it took three days for my broken leg to heal," he said, "One for the shot leg."

"So not that fast," muttered Raven, "If we stop the bleeding now, I don't think you'll need a transfusion. Not until you heal or we can get to a hospital."

"Can't go to a hospital," Peter muttered.

"No shit," said Raven, "Now listen to me, because I'm not delivering your corpse to Erik. Understand?"

He nodded, pushing himself up.

"There's a first aide kit in the glove compartment," she said, "There's a needle and thread in there too though, and that's what you'll need. That and the disinfectant, because she sure as hell didn't disinfect that knife."

Peter nodded, and she could see the clarity pushing at him again. The first aid kit was open in his hands in seconds, and she saw him reach for the disinfectant.

"You have to be sparing because-"

"Shit! Mother of God shit!"

"-it hurts like a bitch," Raven sighed.

He glared at her, his hand still trembling as the disinfectant dripped off it. Kayla had cut down almost to the bone: she could see that now. Peter was blinking though it, his teeth grinding together.

"Stitch it up, and be careful," she said, "In fact take your goggles off first. It'll help your vision."

He tore them off, looking at the needle and his hand. She could only give him a small glimpse: they were going up into the mountain. The roads were poor, and she knew she would need to pay as much attention as she could.

"This is gonna hurt like a bitch too, right?" he said.

No point in lying.

"Like a bitch," she agreed, "Do it fast, and it'll hurt less. Trust me."

Peter swallowed, and then his fingers reached for the needle. A second later he was moaning, sloppy stitches going across his hand. His entire face was scrunched up in pain, his dark eyes closed for a moment before he swallowed and looked up at her.

"So, I'm good?" he asked.

"You need water and rest," said Raven, "Time to heal, and lots of junk food."

"Really?'

"Gotta keep your energy up," she said, "But let someone else get it, or you'll pass out before you even get close to getting back on your feet."

He laughed, his voice tired.

"There should be a shot of morphine in there too, so go for it," Raven said, "Don't want you screaming in pain for the rest of the day."

"Nope. Me neither."

She pulled around a corner, daring for the first time to get out her cell phone. She dialed Erik's number, glancing between the road and the injured man beside her.

"Just follow the instructions on the packet," she said, "You can do that, right?"

"Right."

Raven cradled the phone against her ear. When it rang, it was all she could do not to sigh in relief.

"Erik?" she asked.

"Did everything go smoothly?"

Peter moved to to inject the morphine, and his blood splattered onto her jeans. He gave her an apologetic look, and she sighed.

"More or less," she said, "Tell Logan we've got his girl. Do you all have any water, any snacks?"

"Did Peter eat all of his already?"

Raven winced.

"Kayla nearly cut his hand off, and he's suffering from some bad blood loss," Raven said.

"What?"

His voice was so loud that it made Peter jump. He gave her a curious look, then shrugged, a hazy look filling his eyes. The morphine was already taking off the edge. Good. It meant things would be easier.

She turned another corner, realizing they were almost there.

"He's taken morphine for it. I don't have time to fully explain Erik," she said, "We'll talk more in a minute. I'm almost there."

Raven hung up before he could reply. Next to her, Peter giggled. She sighed, realizing that Peter on drugs was not going to be fun. She wondered if it could even keep up with his rapidly moving brain.

She drove off road and parked by the spot Erik had described to her. Raven didn't have long to wonder if it was the right place: Erik and Logan were already running toward them. Logan looked desperate, but Erik just looked pissed.

"Hey..." Peter said, his voice drawling.

He got out of the car and Raven jumped up after him. In a blink he was standing in front of Erik, staggering. He slumped and Erik caught him.

"You call this smoothly?" demanded Erik.

"I said more or less," Raven snapped.

Erik glared at her, pulling Peter's uninjured arm over his shoulder. Peter stumbled slightly, but Erik managed to right him.

"Thanks dad," Peter laughed.

Raven stared, feeling as though her blood had simultaneously boiled and then frozen. Next to her Logan had reached the car, practically ripping off the door. She wasn't looking at him though, instead staring at Peter as he grinned up at Erik.

A moment passed, then two. Erik sighed.

"You don't take well to morphine, do you?"


	18. Chapter 18

"Do you think there was ever actually a _Love's Labors Won_?" asked Hank.

Carly laughed next to him, nodding. Seated on a bench outside of the hospital on one of her breaks, Hank could almost forget everything that was going on. The sun was bright, and his students were on their way. Soon, they would arrive, and he'd take them up to Moira, where she could hold her firstborn in her arms.

But, between now and then, there was something else. In the days since he'd come to the hospital, he'd crossed paths with Carly almost every day. In her position as an administrator she often walked around the hospital. It was almost impossible not to run into her when he took his own walks to ensure his safety precautions were still up and running.

He'd been making a few extra checks lately, meaning he'd been running into her more and more often. It was necessary though, to make sure everything was working. Moira needed to be protected, and that was the only reason for him being at the hospital.

"Yes, of course I do," Carly said.

"Shakespeare didn't do sequels," said Hank.

"What about _Henry IV_?" he asked.

"That wasn't really a sequel," he said, "That was logical. He was doing so many of the other kings, and it was historical."

"History is one giant sequel, one big 'to be continued,'" said Carly, "When it ends, no one will be around to tell the story."

Hank laughed as his cell phone went off. He picked it up, hoping Charles hadn't just let Kevin play with his phone.

"Hank, we need you."

He winced, suddenly taking back his wish.

"One second, I need to get inside," he said.

Hank put the phone in the cradle of his neck and looked at Carly.

"Important call?" she asked.

"Pretty much," Hank said, "I..."

"I've got another forty five minutes on my break," Carly said, "Go take your call. I'll get your friends, and I'll tell you when they get here."

He smiled as he got up, even though he knew she couldn't see it. There was just something so infectiously open about her.

"Thank you so much," he said, "I'll be down soon."

She nodded, smiling at him. He headed indoors, making sure he was out of sight before making a mad dash for his room. Once inside, he shut the door quickly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"They found Kayla and brought her to a hidden cabin in the mountains Erik found," Charles said, "But the collar's hurting her somehow. They need to know how badly she's hurt, and Peter's injured and on morphine. He can't take her anywhere."

"I don't want to diagnose someone over the phone," said Hank, "It's unreliable."

"You won't have to," Charles said, "Raven's agreed to turn into you and let you share her mind so you can diagnose her in person."

Hank gaped at the phone.

"It's that bad?" he asked.

"We don't know," said Charles, "And that's what we need to find out. I need to turn on Cerebro again, but I can link your minds. Just...don't be standing when I do it."

The phone clicked off, and Hank could feel his hands trembling. He swallowed hard before putting the phone on his nightstand and laying down. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep calm, waiting for what was going to happen.

Then, suddenly, he felt a rush. It was like the floor was being yanked from under his feet and he was being spun around. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to claw at his face. He wanted to hide, to stop the feeling of water rushing into his head.

When he opened his eyes, he looked down at hands that were and weren't his. A panicky breath filled his lungs. He closed his eyes to orient himself, feeling both the mattress beneath him and the hardwood floor beneath his feet.

When he opened his eyes again, he was ready. He stared at Kayla, laid on the table before him, her hair a pillow. Something had been binding her mouth at one point, but it was ripped off. Her hands and feet were bound with duct tape, no doubt Peter's work.

Logan was clutching her arm almost desperately, with Erik standing over his shoulder. From a chair, Peter gave him a silly, lost grin. They were all looking at him, he realized, waiting to see who would speak when the time came.

Whether he willed it or not, it was time to start.

"Erik, this is Hank. I need you to take that collar off her," said Hank, "Be careful: Essex's designs show it was made to be flush against the skin, and the last thing we need is a slit artery."

Erik nodded. He passed his hand over the different locks, and Hank watched them come undone. When the pieces began to come off, he heard a strange sucking noise. He had just enough time to register what it was, for his stomach to churn from the stench that filled the air, and then the collar came off.

It took skin with it. Erik swore under his breath, and he felt Raven gasp in her head. Logan's hands clutched Kayla even tighter, his feral senses no doubt picking up the full brunt of the smell and the disease.

Clotted blood and pus ringed her neck. Skin had come off with the collar, and Hank wasn't surprised. Whatever was in the serum, it had ringed itself around her throat, causing some sort decay overtime, a chemical reaction with the metal. Every time it got close to healing, he surmised it would be time to give her another dose.

And Essex, it appeared, had never checked under the collar.

"I'll kill him," Logan said.

His voice was quiet, but that didn't make his words any less forceful. He said it as though it was a prayer, a promise of pain and death. Hank felt Raven turn to him inside the head. She was taking note of this, wondering, calculating.

Hank pushed it aside. For the time being, it was pointless.

"Erik, I need warm water so we can clean this," he said, "Any bandages?"

"Yep!" Peter said cheerfully, "Need me to bring-?"

"Stay over there," ordered Erik.

He almost heard Peter shrug. Hank swallowed as Erik got up to fetch the necessary materials and peered closer. Yes, he could see the signs of infection setting in. A little cleaning might have saved her this, a little maintenance. He wouldn't be surprised if it was affecting the veins in her neck, making them swell and burst. How many times had she gasped for breath, only to find herself trapped.

Hank reached out a hand. He could feel the heat on her skin even through the weak connection.

"You need ice," said Hank.

"We can't find that out here," Erik said, putting the bowl near him, "We're lucky there's any heat in the water."

Hank dipped the towel into the water and began washing her neck. More blood and pus came off, as well as some stray flecks of skin.

"Then put her in the car and turn on the air conditioning as high as it'll go," Hank said, "Cool her down: she's burning up. She needs to live long enough to heal, and I don't know if her healing factor can deal with things like fevers."

"She's strong," Logan said, his voice still quiet, but void of its earlier hatred, "She'll live."

He swallowed as he rinsed out the cloth. His hands felt filthy, but he'd barely touched the wound.

"I'm sure that, mentally, she's strong," Hank said, "But she's been beaten down for months. Her body is weak, and I can't imagine Essex gave her any breaks. Strong as she may be, she is likely reaching the end of her tether."

Logan's hands were twisted so tightly into the fabric of her shirt that Hank thought it would rip. He thought for another minute.

"Is there a river, or a stream nearby?" Hank asked.

"Yes," Erik said, "It's not far."

"Dip her in that, but not for more than a few minutes at a time, maybe ten," said Hank, "Then bring her back out and let her rest. Then back in, again and again until her temperature cools."

Sighing, he turned her head to the side.

"She needs antibiotics," he said.

"We don't have any," Erik said.

"What the hell do we have?" demanded Logan.

Erik looked at him, his face frustrated, but not entirely unsympathetic.

"We have morphine and tylenol, and that's it," he said.

Logan let out a noise in between his teeth.

"We need a hospital," he said.

"Yes, you do," said Hank, "But what you have is me, and some very rudimentary drugs. We all know the hospital isn't an option, even if Peter was well enough to take her to one far enough to be safe."

"I can do it," Peter said, trying to get up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erik stride up and push him back. Peter pawed weakly at the hand holding it down.

"You are weak from blood loss, and you've got morphine in your system," Hank said, "A cross-country trek is not an option."

He resisted the urge to rub his eyes. He'd only get blood and pus on them.

"I'm willing to bet her neck was bathing in that serum, so you may have some time before it wears off and she wakes up," he said. "Keep her restrained, but dip her in the river. Get the Tylenol."

Hank got up and walked into the kitchen, washing his hands. He took the moment he needed to come back to the room, his head suddenly pounding at the strange balance. Swallowing hard, he poured a glass of water and returned to the room.

Raven began shifting back into herself, and that made it worse.

"Call me in half an hour," said Hank, "Let me know how she's doing. But short of taking Raven and I out, I can't stay here much longer."

"Understood," Erik said, handing him a bottle of Tylenol.

Kneeling down, Hank took tablets from the bottle.

"Hold her down and get ready to knock her out again," he said.

Logan's hands came down on Kayla's shoulders like vices. Hank gave him a short nod before he shoved the tablets between her lips. With the other hand, he poured water down her throat, hoping her body would remember what to do, would override the drug.

Her eyes flew open and Hank tossed aside the glass and pills. He pressed his hands over her mouth as she started to struggle. Her eyes were blank, but she was fighting, and Hank could feel the water coming back up between his fingers.

"Kayla, please, you're stronger, you're goddamn stronger," Logan said.

The words were twisted, broken, and so very lost. Not for the first time, Hank wondered what it must have been like for Logan, meeting Kayla. In Emma's words she was a saint, but picture perfect saints were never the whole story. Had it been like a light in the darkness, or had it been something deeper, felt in Logan's veins? What had happened between the two to make Logan follow Kayla to the ends of the earth, to keep him fighting for her when all hope was lost? What kind of love was that?

He'd seen that before, in Charles and Moira. It was something binding and true, something he knew he hadn't experienced. No wonder, when Logan thought her dead, their child had meant everything to him.

Hank stared down at the woman beneath him, and the blankness continued to stare back. From somewhere else he thought he felt a jolt, but he kept his grip. He couldn't let go, but he could feel her throat moving, her body desperate to breath. It wanted air, and trying to get it after a point became an involuntary action.

She swallowed, and Hank let go, his hands flying away. Logan slammed her head into the table, and she went limp again. Then, in a surprisingly swift motion, he gathered her into his arms. Logan looked at her for a moment, shifting her so her head rested against his chest.

"I'll take her to the river," he said.

Without another word, Logan turned and walked out of the cabin. Hank felt his hands trembling, but he also felt woozy.

 _Hank, you can come back now_ , Charles said.

He sighed in relief, letting go. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at the white wall of his visitor's room in the hospital. Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him, a warm touch, increasing in desperation. Hank turned and saw Carly, her face worried.

As soon as he turned, she pulled her hand to her chest.

"Carly?" he asked, "What...what are you doing here?"

"I...your friends came," she said, "I came to get you and the door was open but you...you wouldn't wake up, and you just...I..."

"I'm sorry," he said, pushing himself up, "I'm a really heavy sleeper. I didn't mean to worry you."

She got up, suddenly brushing something off of her dress. The floor had just been cleaned though and, for a moment, Hank thought her hands were trembling. He might have been the one trembling though: too much of Kayla's injuries and Logan's deep agony were etched in his head.

"You...you should go downstairs," she murmured, "They're waiting for you, and they need you to buzz them in."

Carly turned and, impulsively, Hank took her hand. She stilled, and Hank could feel heat rushing into his dazed cheeks.

"I...I really am sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to worry you. I just...sometimes...I was just so tired after the phone call, and I thought I had more time."

She turned back, and he thought he felt her fingers move in his. They seemed so small and delicate, but so very, very warm. She smiled once, that strange sense of serenity returning to her features. Despite himself, he sighed in relief.

"It's alright," she said.

"Alright," he said, feeling like a fool.

She took her hand back, and Hank felt the warmth leave with something like regret. Still feeling disoriented, Hank got to his feet. Carly reached the door frame, looking over her shoulder at him, biting her lip slightly.

"Just set an alarm next time, alright?" Carly said.

He found himself laughing, the images of blood and pain momentarily eased.

"Of course," he said.


	19. Chapter 19

Kurt stumbled, and Kevin reached out, grabbing his hand. He smiled down at him, but it turned into a wince halfway through. From her position by his other side Emma gave out a frustrated sigh.

"You were horsing around in the car, and now you're having trouble walking," she said, "Great."

"Sorry," Kurt mumbled.

"You're not sorry," said Emma, "and I should've known better than to put you in the middle seat."

"What's wrong with the middle seat?" asked Laura, looking worriedly at her aunt.

Emma shot Scott a look, who rubbed the back of his neck.

"Someone forgot to tell me that was the jolty one," she said.

"It's not usually that bad," Scott said, "It's the road."

"Mmmhm."

Kevin felt Kurt's grip increase on his hand, and spotted an empty bench in the waiting room.

"Maybe we should sit down?" he suggested, "I know Carly said she'd be back with Hank soon, but we have time to rest, right?"

Emma's eyes scanned over Kurt, and gave a sharp nod. Kevin helped Kurt down, and he saw his cousin smile in relief. Cousin. The word felt odd in his mind and on his tongue. His mother was an only child, and her first husband hadn't had any siblings either. They'd probably have been bastards too if he had.

His Uncle Levine was the only uncle he had, and even he wasn't technically his uncle. Again though, he didn't have children, so that meant no cousins. Even when he'd been told Raven was his father's sister, making her his aunt, there hadn't been any cousins. She hadn't been a particularly attentive aunt anyway, and he felt more comfortable with his parents than with her.

All that had changed when Kurt had been shot. Suddenly everyone was telling him Kurt was really Raven's son. It floored him, because how had no one known this? After that initial thought had worn off, he'd realized something else: he had a cousin.

Kevin had been fine with not having any cousins before, but he wondered if it was the same kind of fine that he'd been when he didn't have a father. Not having cousins had never been a conscious decision though, never a severing of a tie. They, after all, had never existed.

But this was Kurt, one of the first mutants he'd seen. This was Kurt, Peter's German friend, the one who made jokes and stammered whenever Amanda kissed his cheek. Kurt was fun, Kurt was nice. Kurt would be a great cousin.

And now Kurt was struggling to get over his injury. Looking nervous, Laura crept up and put her cards down on the bench next to them.

"I need to go real quick," she said, "I'll be back."

"You are not going anywhere by yourself," said Emma.

"I gotta go."

"And where do you have to go exactly?"

Laura shuffled her feet, looking at the ground.

"I gotta, you know," she said.

Although he tried not to draw too much attention to Laura, she was obviously embarrassed, Kevin felt like rolling his eyes. Seriously, Emma hadn't told her it was okay to ask to go to the bathroom?

It wasn't a big deal, especially with a cousin whose injuries were bothering him, but it really was just frustration on top of frustration. It just seemed like it was going to be forever until he saw his mom.

"Fine, I'll take you," Emma said.

"No..." said Laura, taking a step back, "I don't wanna slow you down."

Immediately, Kevin felt guilt weighing down on him. She was the one who had suggested this trip after all, mentioned the possibility of visiting his mother. Now, in return, he was being a total jerk about everything, even if it only was in his head.

"Go ahead," he said, "Kurt needs to rest anyway."

Laura blinked at him, her eyes big and blushing. Emma took her by the hand and pointed at Scott.

"You are going to go get Kurt a soda," she said, "And you're paying for it."

"What?" asked Scott, "Why?"

"I am fine-" tried Kurt.

"It's Scott's broke-ass car that got us into this situation," she said, "And, right now, I'll have to tell Amanda I did a terrible job of taking care of her boyfriend because of you. Therefore, you pay for the soda."

She turned around, all but dragging Laura away. Ruffling the back of his hair, Scott gave them an apologetic smile.

"Anyone want a candy bar while I'm at it?" he asked.

"Nein," Kurt said.

"No thanks."

Scott shrugged and walked away. Kurt sighed and leaned his head against the wall.

"I am sorry," he said, "I shouldn't haf come. I just vanted to make sure everyzing vas alright, but you could haf told me."

"Don't be sorry," said Kevin, "You've got more of a right to be here than Emma or Scott."

"But not Laura?" Kurt asked.

For some reason, the question made him frown and blush.

"She came up with the idea," said Kevin, "I thought I'd have to wait longer, til maybe my dad could take me. She came up with it, and she just wants to be nice. It'd be rude to leave her behind."

"Ja, I am sure," Kurt said.

His cousin grinned and Kevin could count all of his fangs. He suddenly realized what it was Kurt was implying, the same thing his father had teased him about. Kevin flushed and looked down at his shoes, trying to think of anything clever he could say.

So he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"When are you and Amanda gonna have babies?" he blurted.

Kurt spluttered and drew back, perhaps rethinking his teasing. Kevin discovered he was grinning too. He liked it.

"You are too young to know about zat," Kurt said, his face turning purple.

"I have a baby brother on the way," said Kevin, "I know all about that. Mom explained when she found out she was pregnant."

Somehow, Kurt managed to turn even more purple. Kevin wondered if Kurt knew how babies were made, although him not knowing didn't make that much sense. He was so much older than him.

Still, he decided to test it out.

"See, when two people love each other very much-" he began.

"Zat ist enough of zat," Kurt said, his hand clapping down hard on Kevin's shoulder, "Ja. Enough."

Kevin laughed.

"I was almost done," he said, "I don't see what's so embarrassing about it. It's pretty simple."

The purple started to recede from Kurt's face, replaced by a quiet kind of thoughtfulness.

"So, you zink babies are made vhen two people love each other," he said, "And...?"

"And what?" asked Kevin.

Kurt suddenly smiled at him and Kevin felt indignant.

"What's wrong?" he snapped.

"Nozing," Kurt said, "No, zat ist right. Zat ist right."

"What don't I get?" Kevin asked, "What am I missing?"

"Tell you vhen you're older," said Kurt.

Kevin leaned back on the bench, frustrated, and Kurt laughed. As he did, Kevin took a minute to study him. He bit his lip.

"Are you...is this what an older brother's supposed to do?"

Almost like flipping a light switch, Kurt stopped laughing. He stared at him with blood-colored eyes, and Kevin looked down at his hands.

"I wanna be a good one," he said, "I've wanted it for a really long time...but...the um, the other guy..."

The other guy. It sounded silly. He needed a word to describe the man who'd given him his genes that wasn't that and wasn't 'father.' Even thinking of him as his mother's first husband was wrong. Every time he reminded himself that he was connected to the man who'd broken his ribs and put her in the hospital, he felt filthy.

"I wouldn't want him to be connected to my brother," said Kevin, "And he doesn't have to be now, and that's awesome. But I never even had friends until a few months ago, and I mean, I wanna do a good job, but there's so much to learn."

"Kevin-"

"And I've felt his love," said Kevin, "He loves me so much already, and I don't wanna let him down..."

"Kevin," said Kurt, laughing.

He looked up. Kurt was smiling again.

"You love him, ja?" said Kurt.

"Yeah," Kevin said.

A three-fingered hand wrapped around his shoulder.

"Zen you vill do good," said Kurt, "Love is alvays a good foundation. Everyzing else comes after."

Kevin leaned back further, a deep ache starting in his chest. He wished he'd had more time to be cousins with Kurt. It felt like he'd been given so much family in a rush, and that was good, but he wanted more time, even just to hold the amazing moments that fluttered in his life.

But, every time something amazing happened, something bad happened. It felt like it was all getting mired, choked, and, sometimes, he didn't know what to do.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

Kevin looked up at the doctor who was giving them a cold look. He shuffled and Kurt looked up too, smiling with his lips closed.

"Ja," he said, "Um, mein aunt is a patient here."

"Then wait outside," he said.

Kurt winced, and Kevin felt his eyes narrow. They'd just come in from outside. What was he talking about?

"We're just here for five minutes," Kurt said, "Und I zink somevone is coming for us-"

"I told you to wait outside," the doctor said, "I don't want you scaring our normal patients."

Kevin stared, something deep sparking. Normal patients? He glanced at Kurt, trying to see what it was that the doctor was seeing. And yes, he did see the blue highlights, the indigo skin. He saw the red eyes and fangs, the tail swishing on the floor.

And he also saw his cousin.

"I said-"

"I don't want you treating my mom," said Kevin, "Stupid people make her angry, and she needs to rest."

The doctor stared at him, and Kevin felt a curl of pleasure at his expression.

"Wait. Outside," the doctor said, gritting his teeth.

"No," Kevin said, "You go wait outside."

"Kevin-" started Kurt.

"You have five minutes to get your toddler under control or I'm calling security," the doctor said.

"I'm nine," Kevin said, "You're even stupider than you look. How are you even a doctor?"

The doctor's face was glowing, and Kevin saw him touch his pager. Would he really call security? No. Kevin wasn't about to let him, not when he could stop him. Could he maybe jerk it out of his hand? If he wanted to be subtle, maybe he could just give him a migraine, one that made even his toes hurt.

His fingertips curled in. Kurt was moving protectively in front of him, but Kevin didn't need to be protected. He could handle himself, and idiots like this needed to be taught they couldn't do this. They couldn't just take something from people for no reason, people who were just trying to enjoy their lives, be with those they cared about.

And he could teach it to them.

"Listen you little shit-"

"Is something wrong with you?"

Kevin turned. Carly was walking up the hall, her cane clicking furiously on the floor. Hank was right behind her, looking between everyone with intense eyes.

"You can't call people that," she said.

"Did you suddenly take over professional standards?" the doctor asked, "Or are you still stuck shuffling papers?"

"I shuffle enough to know you're not filing it right," Carly said, "Or on time. And while I may not be in charge of professional standards, I can, in fact, report you."

"How exactly?" he sneered, his eyes falling on her cane and glasses.

Hank tensed behind her, and Kevin felt himself draw up. He needed to calm himself, and focus. Then he could give the doctor a headache that would leave him curled up on a couch for days, moaning.

"Don't you know?" asked Carly, "They have Braille forms. I can actually write that faster than I can type, and I have excellent speeds. How else do you think I got hired?"

"Affirmative action?" he asked.

"Oh, never heard that one before," Carly said, "But, you can try me, if you want."

He sneered at her before walking away. Hank's eyes were hard on the man, his hands clenching into fists but it wasn't enough. The fury was building up inside Kevin, begging for a release, for the headache of the stupid doctor's life-

"Kevin...let's go see your mom. Just give me a minute."

He blinked and lost sight of the doctor. Instead, Hank was in front of him, looking at Carly strangely.

"I'm just...Carly...I can't believe he-"

"It wasn't the most creative thing I've been called," she said, her voice almost smooth, "I'll see you later."

She turned, her cane tapping on the floor once more. Hank looked after her before turning back to Kevin.

"Kurt, do you need to rest or-"

"Just a minute more," Kurt said, "Und...I should vait for ze ozzers, ja."

Hank nodded again. Kevin hopped off the bench and started walking, looking over his shoulder at Kurt.

 _He shouldn't have talked to you like that,_ Kevin said, _You're worth eighty of him._

His cousin's red eyes met his, and then they turned the corner. Kevin didn't talk to Hank as he walked, the resonant rage simmering in his skin. Part of him was even angry at being told to go visit his mother, for losing his concentration.

But that wasn't fair, and he knew it. Tears built up in his eyes. He didn't want to have this thing growing inside of him. He wanted someone he could be angry at. He wanted things to be normal.

Hank opened a door to one of the rooms. His mother looked up from a book, her hair loose around her shoulders. One hand rested on her giant belly. She was radiant, healthy-looking. When she smiled, it was as though nothing was wrong at all in the world.

Kevin ran to her, embracing her side as hard as he could. She held him close, his face leaning against her belly. Almost absently he reached out, and felt a joyful wave come back. His brother was happy to see him.

And Kevin, for that moment, was happy too.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** As some of you already know, I live in Florida. Hurricane Matthew will be affecting my area, so my internet might go out. I don't know for certain, but, just in case I can't post on my normal schedule, I wanted everyone to know that I hadn't forgotten. I'll try to keep my schedule as consistent as possible._


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N:** I'd like to thank everyone who sent their best wishes about the hurricane. So far, so good!_

* * *

Moira closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself stroke Kevin's hair. The room was noisy, Emma and Scott keeping a respectful distance but doing nothing to calm the exuberance of Kurt or Laura. She was glad. After so much silence, so much time to think and worry about the life inside of her, she wanted to see their unbridled joy.

Hank sat down nearby, looking deep in thought. He'd often been like that, but he'd talked, trying to reassure her, or even just let her know what was going on outside the hospital. This was different, almost more troubled. She'd have to find out what that was about later, after everyone left. She wasn't about to worry her boy if she was wrong.

And she could tell that Kevin needed something like this. After his initial sprint toward her, he'd started talking about school, about books he'd read, everything. Sometimes he'd ask Laura for help explaining something, and she'd chime in eagerly. Kurt would add things, laughing and correcting him.

And then there had been the cards. Two of the ones Laura and Kevin had made were already on the dresser. They were sweet, with Laura's containing drawings of rainbows, of stars, hearts, anything happy the girl had thought to draw, in no particular order. Kevin's was a bit more organized, but no less sweet.

Laura had a third one though, made of construction paper. Unlike the other ones, it was void of any marker and crayon. It looked almost as though someone had simply folded a piece of paper in half.

"This one's from the Professor," Laura said brightly.

Moira hesitated, reaching for it almost tentatively. She'd spoken to Charles once or twice on the phone since she'd come, but never for very long. The school and the mission to Japan kept taking him away. When she went to sleep at night, he was often her last thought. She'd gotten so used to sleeping next to his warmth, to feeling his lips just below her ear before she went to bed.

She unfolded the card, revealing Charles's flowing penmanship inside. Moira kept it semi-closed so Kevin couldn't read. Some things were meant to remain personal.

 _My dearest,_

 _I wish I could be there handing this to you myself. Know that you're in my thoughts every minute of the day, a constant ache that follows me wherever I go. Know that the minute I can, I'll be there by your side._

 _But I'm glad Kevin's with you now. He worries, even if he pretends he doesn't sometimes. You raised him very well, and he'll make a fine brother, but I suspect you already know that on both counts. If only we can get him to try some other English authors from time to time, although, to be fair, he only likes Jane Austen heroines who have a thing or two to teach the heroes._

Moira couldn't help the laugh that escaped her lips. Kevin started to peer over her shoulder, but she grinned and pulled the card further away. He pouted, but she could tell he was more curious than irritated.

She put her spare hand on her cheek, her fingertips resting there as she read.

 _He misses you terribly, as do I. I wish that I could give you a true apology for how difficult things have been, tell you that I wish it hadn't happened. But I can only pray that things will be easier, that the road that has started out rocky will become smoother._

 _Because, in the end, knowing you're here, that I can call you my wife, I have a hard time regretting anything that's happened. We have two children, something I thought I could never have. You're with me and, selfishly, that's all I want._

 _I think it might have been the one thing I can say that I've wanted since you held me on that beach all those years ago._

A tear slipped down her eye, wetting the hand on her cheek. Kevin noticed and sat up straighter.

"Are you okay mom?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, "I'm fine."

He looked doubtful, but her eyes fell back down to the card.

 _And soon I hope to be with you, to help welcome our next child into this world. I don't know if you've ever read any Christina Rossetti, but she's long been one of my favorite poets. Not while I was younger, and not while I was studying. I spent so much time drunk then I wonder how I ever got my thesis done._

Laughter once again bubbled from her lips, but her tears kept flowing over her fingers.

 _But years ago, she wrote something that has always made me think of you:_

 _I loved you first: but afterwards your love_

 _Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song_

 _As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove._

 _Which owes the other most? my love was long,_

 _and yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;_

 _I loved and guessed at you, you construed me_

 _and loved me for what might or might not be –_

 _Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong._

 _For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine;'_

 _With separate 'I' and 'thou' free love has done,_

 _For one is both and both are one in love:_

 _Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine;'_

 _Both have the strength and both the length thereof,_

 _both of us, of the love which makes us one._

Moira closed her eyes, her need for her husband by her side a physical thing, ripping her apart. She held her son a little closer, forcing herself to open her eyes and read the last of the card.

 _Until I can once again see you again, with all of my heart and soul,_

 _Charles_

She breathed in slowly, closing the card. Moira looked up and saw that Laura was suddenly at her elbow, looking worried. Next to her, Kevin was moving closer, his eyes scanning her face and, strangely, going around the room, almost searching.

"Are you sure you're okay Miss Moira?" Laura asked, "You're crying."

"I'm fine," Moira said swallowing, "I'm just...I'm just a little...I'm fine."

Laura frowned for a minute, and then her face lit up in understanding.

"Happy tears?" she asked.

Moira laughed.

"Yes," she said, "Happy tears."

* * *

Logan pulled Kayla out of the water, her wet hair sticking to his sopping shirt, her head lolling uselessly against his chest. He dragged her away from the riverbank, putting his hand onto her forehead. It was cooler now, but the fever was still high.

He swore to himself, laying her down on the ground next to him. His jacket, long discarded, lay a few feet away. He had to wait for a few minutes before he pulled her back into the freezing water, to cool the fire swimming in her skin. Logan brushed the damp strands out of her face, his other hand fisting next to him.

"Come on darlin," he said, "Come on. Lemme bring you home."

There was nothing, and he let his fist press into the ground. Of all the enemies he'd faced, it had been a long time since he'd felt this helpless. Even when he'd seen her bloody and torn on the ground outside his cabin, he'd still known who to hurt. He'd still had a sliver of hope that he could save her.

And when she was gone, he'd known who to go after, who to hate. But now that she was still breathing, fighting for her life and control in his arms, he didn't know what to do. Laura had trusted him to bring her mother home, and he didn't know what to do.

He closed his eyes. Laura. The sweet little girl who was more Kayla than him, her eyes big and her hair long and wavy. The child was all curiosity and helpless love, hoping someone would feel the same. She was the daughter he knew Kayla had always wanted, the daughter he'd never have been able to give her if Essex hadn't screwed with their lives.

He swore again as he pulled her up, ready to put her back in the river. It felt like he'd been there hours, and she wasn't waking up. The tissue on her neck was only now starting to heal, the rope burn fading. It brought up too many fears about the strength of her healing factor. How long had she laid there outside the cabin, her mouth bound, wanting to die, wanting to live, wondering why he didn't help her?

Her hands pulled against the ground, and he realized the duct tape was starting to come off. It was probably a combination of the water and stress. Logan growled in frustration. He yanked it off, as well as the tape binding her ankles. It was probably stupid, but God, did he have to be reminded every time he looked at her of what had happened? Of his failure?

Logan pulled her back into the water with him, holding his arms over her as the water rushed over them. It was freezing and, hating himself, he shivered. He leaned his head against the side of her face, resting his lips on her cheekbone as he held her close. If she moved, or tried to get away, he could stop her. Even if it meant hurting her, he would stop her. Laura was waiting, needing her. Like he needed her.

Kayla coughed, her body jerking his grasp. She was turning, moving, starting to fight. He pulled her close, wondering how he could, or should, knock her out. Not like Raven had. That could've killed her. He'd have to hit her head, try not to give her a concussion.

She twisted in his grasp, her hands coming up to her neck. It was so specific, so strange, that he stilled his hand. Logan watched as her fingertips jerked and twitched around her throat. A breathless, wrenching sob tore from her throat as her fingers brushed against the torn flesh on her neck.

"Kayla?" he asked.

She turned, the water helping her twist yet again. When she looked at him, her face was whorled and frightened. Sopping strands of her long black hair were sticking to her face like cobwebs, imprisoning her face.

Then, he saw it. It started out small, almost as though she'd forgotten how to do it. Then a spark flared in her eyes, slowly consuming what had been barren, dry kindling. As he watched, his heart ripping, it burst into an inferno.

"Logan," she whispered.

He let go of her, his calloused hands moving to cup her face. Logan drew her close, his lips greedily, desperately sucking at hers. Her teeth clicked against his, her hands fisting in the sopping cloth of his shirt. The cold was forgotten, his body warmed in the memory of that fire. She'd said his name, God she'd said his name, and it was like the first time she'd taken him in her arms, the first time he'd seen her eyes ignite.

He was lost all over again.

"I've got ya darlin," he said, the words partial and broken between kisses, "You're safe."

Kayla's cold lips moved beneath his, her breaths wrenching sobs and gasps. Her fingers were still twitching, her body moving oddly. Logan pulled back, taking her in his arms again, holding her as the water flowed around them.

Her breaths were still harsh, coming out her lips in little gasps of pain. Her head rested on his chest, coughing and crying.

"He'll never hurt you again," Logan said, "He'll never even come near you."


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N:** The storm has passed with only minimal damage to my area. Thank you all for your support!_

* * *

Kevin walked into the dining room, his slippers tapping on the carpet. He was having trouble sleeping, but his father wasn't in his room. He was getting too big to go running to his parents whenever he had a nightmare anyway.

Feeling tired, and more than a little defeated, he stumbled into the dining room. No one was there, and he clambered onto one of the chairs. Kevin laid his head on the table, his fingers splayed out on the wood.

It had been good to see his mother again, but he could feel his stomach roiling in protest. It was unfair, and so very selfish, but he felt like the visit shouldn't have happened. She was supposed to be home where he could help her, where his father could help her. She wasn't kidnapped, and she didn't work for the CIA anymore, so she shouldn't have to be far away.

He closed his eyes, the rage building up in him. He didn't want to be angry: he'd had such a good time with his mother, with his friends. But it wasn't supposed to end. Kevin shouldn't have to leave his own mother and the feelings of joy and love that made up his little brother. It wasn't fair, and he hated it.

Kevin pressed his cheek further against the table. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to yell and scream, but at who? His mother, who couldn't help being sick? His baby brother, who he wanted to badly it hurt? His father, who loved him unconditionally and wanted the best?

Angry tears pressed out of his eyes, dripping onto his hands and the table. The last time he'd sat there had been his birthday. It had been the most crowded one he'd attended. Kevin had always been timid around other kids. So many of them were stupid, even if they were nice sometimes. He'd never felt like he quite belonged.

But he belonged with Laura, Sam, Xi'an and Megan. He belonged with everyone else at the school, with his friend Peter who had teased him that day, and he'd felt like he was special. Special and loved, with something glowing and awesome in the future.

The wood of the table felt grainy beneath his fingers. It was almost like it was shifting, turning. Kevin buried his face into the wood, a breathing pillow. It was like laying on the beach, if the sand moved.

He opened his eyes and saw a box in front of him. It was familiar, and Kevin swallowed at the sight. Almost out of compulsion, he ripped off the paper, opened up the box. There was tissue paper inside, and he pulled it away.

A crisp baseball shirt was inside, along with a cap, bat, glove and ball. Kevin stifled a scream, pushing himself away from the table. The box collapsed back into the table, sand scattering everywhere before it was swallowed up by the wood.

He ran from the room, his heart pounding, knowing he wasn't going to sleep that night.

* * *

It was difficult to concentrate on doing anything. Movement was difficult in a way it had never been before. Every time Kayla reached out her fingers would jerk and twitch, fighting her. Sudden movements made her nauseous, and she was freezing.

She didn't even know where she was, everything said. She remembered a hotel room, a boy with silver hair whose hand she'd nearly cleaved in half. She wanted to ask Logan if he knew the boy, if he was alright. Her vocal chords were rusty from disuse though, and her throat still hurt so badly.

And she was cold. Why had they been in the river? She hadn't had the strength to ask at the time, although she'd wanted to. All she remembered was the pull of the rope around her neck, frightened that Mystique was actually going to kill her. If she had to be left behind, that was one thing. But she hadn't come so far to be killed by her allies.

Logan laid her down on a cot, her body wrapped securely in his jacket. Other people were there, talking, asking questions. Logan kept brushing them off irritably, and she wanted to tell him to calm down, that she was fine.

She pushed herself up and, immediately, a wave of nausea swallowed her. Kayla dropped back down, her hands clutching her stomach. Every motion gave her an intense vertigo. Her fingers and toes were still twitching, spasms shaking her in unusual ways.

After five months of not being in control, it seemed like her brain and limbs weren't in sync. They didn't understand that one needed the other. Kayla wanted to scream at that, because Essex shouldn't have an easier time of making her move than she did.

Logan sat down next to her, pulling her sopping hair away from her face.

"Don't worry darlin," he said, "You're gonna be fine. We've got ya now."

She swallowed, trying to breathe as deep as she could to calm her body. A sudden burst movement caught her eye as the young man she'd seen earlier sat up, his eyes shining. He had a silly grin on his face, and she breathed out, because she hadn't managed to kill him.

"Great!" he said, "Laura's mom isn't all murdery anymore!"

Her face flushed, both with embarrassment and a tinge of excitement. Laura, the little girl she'd glimpsed in Logan's arms. She wasn't here, was she? While Kayla wanted to see her, touch her face, she hoped Logan knew better than to bring her into the hornet's nest.

"Calm down Peter."

She looked as Erik Lensherr, Magneto, whatever he was calling himself these days, sat down next to the boy. She'd heard that Logan was working with him, and she'd hoped the rumors weren't true, that Logan wouldn't be desperate enough to work with the man who even her mother thought was volatile.

Apparently not.

"She good though?" asked Peter, "We can take her home? Can we? Please, please, please-"

"Peter," Erik said sharply.

Peter laid back and sulked, his expression petulant. Kayla stared until she felt Logan's fingers on her cheek.

"Don't mind the kid," he said, "He's high on morphine."

"And how's she?" asked Mystique, her hands clutched tightly to her chest, "Good enough to head on the road?"

"No," Logan said, his voice inches away from a growl.

Kayla tried to push herself up again. This time, she managed to move to her side. It still made her nauseous, but she had to look this woman in the eye. Logan moved toward her, concerned. It was sweet, but she didn't need his help.

"The boy, at the school," Kayla said, her voice halting, "Those months ago...did I kill him?"

Mystique's face hardened, and Kayla swallowed. She tried to push herself up even further, and this time she did need Logan to support her.

"I need to know," she said, "I just...I didn't-"

"My son is still undergoing physical therapy," Mystique said coldly, "He hasn't been doing any teleporting for a while, I can tell you that much."

"But he's alive?" asked Kayla.

"Kurt is A-Okay!" Peter shouted.

"Mags, could ya shut the damn kid up?" snapped Logan.

"Unlikely," Erik snapped back.

"Remind me never to let him near morphine again," said Logan.

"Joke's on you! That shit ran out ten minutes ago!" Peter laughed.

His hand started shaking.

"...can I have some more?"

Kayla let herself slump then, sliding comfortably into Logan's embrace. The boy was alive. While he wouldn't have been be the only murder she'd committed on Essex's orders since he collared her, he would've been the youngest. The image of his startled, pained eyes followed her to sleep too many nights.

She jerked her arms closer to herself, shivering. It still wasn't good, the way she had to move, but it was something. She'd get better as time went by, would no longer be a stranger in her own body. Kayla was looking forward to that.

Already she could feel her nerve endings sparking and cooling. Now that the numbness from the river was disappearing, she could truly feel Logan's skin against hers. It was causing a pleasurable prickling along her bones, familiar and happy.

She slipped her hands underneath the jacket and held herself. It was the first time she'd done that in months. Essex usually had her stand at attention or move stiffly. When she slept, she did so laying down on the bunk and closing her eyes. There was no tossing and turning, no bunching up of the blanket.

As she hugged herself, her hand ran over her shoulder. It had been left bare from the black tank top she wore. She felt a small bump there, and she frowned. It was almost as though something was hard under her skin. Had she gotten bruised there?

Kayla shrugged off the sleeve of the jacket looked over at her shoulder. At first she didn't see anything but, the longer she looked, the more she could see a slight discoloration. It was a tiny scar, no bigger than half a dime. It had healed well, but it was still there.

She ran her fingers over it again, trying to remember where it had come from. It wasn't her only scar. Even with Logan's healing factor injected into her she'd never been able to heal perfectly or quickly. It was why his brother's claw marks were still visible on her face and neck, her stomach.

And she could remember them all. The kinds of wounds that left marks were always the deepest, the ones that had nearly killed her. If she'd gotten this injury in battle, she would've remembered it. And then there was the bump underneath it. It almost felt circular.

A shard of panic sliced through her head. No. When would he have time? But it wasn't a risk she could take. She looked around for something, anything she could use. Her utility belt wasn't that far away, and she saw her spare knife in its holster.

Gathering her strength and concentration, Kayla lunged for it. She almost threw herself out of Logan's arms. He looked at her, his hands around her waist and eyes surprised as she grabbed the knife.

Immediately, she shoved it into her shoulder. A broken scream warbled through her lips as the knife burrowed through her flesh.

"Kayla!"

He grabbed at her, but she moved, peeling away skin and tissue. The pain brought tears to her eyes and stunted her breath. Her hand kept jerking involuntarily, making the knife go back and forth, blood flicking everywhere.

Logan's hand closed around hers, yanking the knife away and tossing it across the room.

"Kayla!" he said again.

"There's something there!" she screamed, "I can feel it!"

His hand closed over her shoulder, to stop the bleeding, she thought. But when he did, she saw his face change. His fingers suddenly moved into the wound, and she took a deep breath, trying to balance her pain.

Something came out, almost with a sucking sound. Logan pulled his hand away, a small disk with a blinking light in his palm.

"What the hell is that?" Erik demanded.

"It's a goddamn tracer," muttered Logan.

He turned his head suddenly, nostrils flaring. His hands grabbed Kayla's arms roughly, jerking her toward him.

"Everyone down!" he yelled.

Kayla found herself dropping to the floor, Logan's arms around her, protecting her head. Their eyes met for a minute, his expression one of a desperate protectiveness, with something dark rising inside. He rolled with her under the bed, his body covering hers as the windows shattered beneath a hail of gunfire.


	22. Chapter 22

Although his hand felt like maggots were crawling in it and eating his flesh, Peter had a pretty good idea of what to do when bullets started flying. He rolled off of the couch, hitting the wood hard, and covered his head.

After a moment, he risked a peek up and saw Logan shielding Kayla with his body. His father and Raven were taking cover, shouting something over the rain of bullets. Something about plastic, which would, of course, explain why they were still being shot at.

He weighed his options, wondering why no one was calling for him to do something. He inched a little further, and his hand started screaming again. Right, yeah, that. And the blood loss. If he thought about it, really did, then yeah, he was pretty lightheaded.

Still, it would've been nice to be asked. It had been his damn hand that was injured, not his leg. He lowered his uninjured hand and dug into one of his jacket pockets. The world was slowing around him, just as it always did when he activated his mutation. He smiled, wiping off the blood on the lens before he strapped them on.

Peter jumped to his feet, and looked around the room. A few bullets were headed straight for his dad and Raven, and, grinning, he moved them out of the way. Six were too close to Logan and Kayla for comfort even if they could heal, so those got moved too.

Satisfied, he took off running. It felt like a rush, and he actually stumbled once or twice. He'd never done that before. Maybe this was why everyone was always so upset about him losing blood, because this sucked pretty bad.

He grabbed the gun out of the first man's hands, searching for anything useful in his pockets. He was pleasantly surprised to find a tranquilizer gun, recognizing the design from his time in the Danger Room. Sweet.

Peter shot the man with the tranquilizer at point blank range and hurried on to his next target. There were fifteen others, which was kind of nice, because it meant they sure as hell weren't being underestimated. It also kind of sucked, because he got dizzy after the fifth guy he shot and took his gun.

But he was still on his feet for the rest of them. His hands were getting full, and he considered dropping some of the guns. However, in some of the simulations he'd learned that leaving people with weapons within arm's reach, tranqued or not, was a bad idea. So he kept collecting them and sending the small darts into the men's throats and shoulders.

The world was starting to spin when he got back to the cabin. Normal speed resumed, and he watched in satisfaction as plastic bullets slammed into the wall. His father and Raven immediately turned to him, and, with a silly grin, he dropped all the guns on the floor.

Then his stomach caught up with the rest of him and he fell to his knees, barfing up his breakfast. Black spots started to swim in front of his eyes and his dad was next to him, yanking him back so he didn't pass out face first in his own vomit.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"That could've gotten you killed," his father said.

"And you're welcome," Peter said, pointing to nothing in particular.

To his surprise, his father gave a low chuckle and helped him back to his feet. That felt kind of nice, since he didn't know what his ability to walk would look like any more.

"Feeling light-headed?" his father asked.

"Understatement of the century," Peter laughed, "I'm feeling high as a kite right now."

"Don't give him more morphine," Logan said, emerging from the space under the bed.

He turned back and helped Kayla out. They were good, which was good. He'd told the Professor he was bringing back Laura's mom, and he didn't want her back with a bunch of bullet holes.

Peter didn't have it in him to carry on much of a conversation with them though, since his mouth still tasted like vomit. His breath probably smelled like it too. He was grateful when his father led him back to the couch, helping him sink down onto the cushions.

"Rest up, and try not to be...try not to be a hero for five minutes," his father said.

"I guarantee you two," said Peter, "Two minutes. Tops"

His father chuckled again and turned away, looking at the pile of guns. Raven was already there, shuffling through the small pile.

"Well-made," she said, "And high-powered. I think they were told to go in heavy, and then sort the pieces out afterwards for confirmed kills."

"But they had a tranq gun," Peter said, "Recognized it from simulations."

The vomit flavor came up powerfully when he spoke. It tasted like eggs. Worst vomit taste ever.

"Tranquilizers?" repeated his father.

"Makes sense," Logan said, wrapping his arms around Kayla to keep her upright, "Bullets wouldn'tve killed me, probably not Kayla either. Bastard probably thought he could collar us."

His father nodded, then shook his head.

"We need to get out of here," he said.

"And push our attack," Kayla said.

Peter turned to her, blinking back the black spots that were swimming again.

"Give me an hour, and I'll be fine," Kayla said, "But I know the layout, and we can't keep hopping around like rabbits trying to figure out what to do next. We can't afford to wait too long or Essex'll pack up and move location no matter what he's promised Yashida."

"And what has he promised Yashida exactly?" asked Raven.

Kayla shook her head.

"He didn't talk too many details around me," she said, "I was a doll to him, but a doll he felt had a chance at rescue. He wouldn't have put the tracker in me otherwise."

She looked distastefully at the ground, and Peter saw the small, bloody disk on the ground. A light was blinking away.

"Want me to break that?" he asked.

"Let it stay," she said, "They might not know I dug it out-"

"Which was totally badass, by the way," Peter said.

She laughed, her hand clenching Logan's shoulder for balance. Now that she was smiling and he was looking at her, really looking at her, he could see the resemblance between her and Laura. Laura's skin was a shade or two paler, but she had those same ashen eyes, the same dark hair. They were reflections of each other, Laura in print dresses and baby fat and her mom with high cheek bones and fatigues.

Then again, their family wasn't any weirder than his.

"If we're going to move into the facility, then we might not have an hour," his father said, "And we have two members of the walking wounded."

"The running wounded," Peter corrected, "And I think I proved I could take it. Just don't ask me to climb Mt. Fuji."

His father shook his head and Raven shook her head.

"We'll need his help if we're going to take out the factory, admit it," said Raven, "And, if Kayla can pull together, I've seen firsthand how good of a shot she is."

Kayla flushed, even though Raven didn't seem to be speaking with any real malice.

"She's better with a sniper rifle, and I know ya brought one," Logan said, "We always had Zero for close shots."

"Trying to keep me out of the heavy fire?" asked Kayla.

"Damn straight," Logan growled, "You're still makin involuntary movements, and damned if I'm sending you in ta do hand-ta-hand like that."

"I'm just surprised you're not trying to dissuade her from participating altogether," his father said.

Logan barked out a bitter laugh.

"Ya don't know her if ya think I could persuade her ta sit this one out," he said.

His father raised his eyebrows.

"I really don't think now is the time for that kind of justification," he said, "I need to know if she can still fight, not if she'll raise hell for being left behind."

Kayla slowly unwound her arm from around Logan's shoulder. She walked over to where her belt was still on the table, a few plastic bullets embedded in the wood. Her footsteps were somewhat unsteady, and Peter could see the jerkiness in her fingertips Logan had referred to.

"You know, my mother warned me not to work with you if I ever ran into you," Kayla said.

Her tone was casual, but Peter frowned. Not what he was expecting.

"Her reasoning was that you were too reckless," she said, clipping the belt around her hips, "Too destructive. Great words coming from her, as I'm sure you know, but she was rarely wrong about those sorts of things. She was good at surviving, my mother, right until she wasn't."

She shrugged.

"And, truthfully, I'm feeling a little destructive too at the moment."

She pulled the gun out of its holster and shot at the back door. The door knob flew off the wood, and Peter whistled. Her hand was shaking afterward, and Peter knew she was still working on standing upright, but she was managing.

Like he would.

"I can take care of myself," she said, "And, let's face it, you need my knowledge, and that's not the kind of thing you can get secondhand. Not with this."

His father tilted his head and, after a pause, nodded.

"Understood," he said, "Grab your gear. Maybe one of these assholes has a car we can use, something to get us in."

"Don't go that way," said Kayla, "They have different codes on the hour, every hour. They'll notice us coming in if we don't have the code. We'll have to sneak in, but the cameras will need to be disabled first."

She tilted her head toward Peter.

"And I think we have someone who is very good with that," Kayla said.

Peter grinned and hopped to his feet. He stumbled, only to have his father catch him.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked.

Truthfully? Probably not. But he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity like this, just like he hadn't been able to pass up the opportunity to break into the Pentagon.

"Totally," Peter said, "Plus, I've already yakked up everything I've eaten, so no more egg vomit taste!"

His father rolled his eyes.

"Just hold onto that thought," he said.

* * *

Hank finished his fourth cup of coffee that night. He threw the Styrofoam cup into the trash can as he wandered the hall, sighing. It had been a long day and, between Kevin's visit and Kayla's diagnosis, he was running behind on his camera checks.

He finished the last one and started to head back up to his room. He'd turned a few corners before he saw Carly finish up the last of her files and get up. Her headphones were plugged into her Walkman, her head moving in time with a song he couldn't hear. Hank paused where he was, watching herfor a minute.

It wasn't unusual for her to work late. Because of her blindness, she had to live nearby her place of work. But living in the town required a car. She'd been offered a small apartment connected to the hospital, taking the bus into town on weekends for her groceries.

It was always a small thought in the back of his head that, if he roamed the halls at night, he had a chance of seeing her. If he was honest, it was always a small thought that he always ran a chance of running into her. It was a good thought, one that was almost frightening.

Earlier that day, he'd wanted to have his own chance to tell off the doctor for saying those things to Kurt and Kevin. It was indecent and unprofessional. But something else had started bubbling up when the doctor said those things to Carly, something he hadn't expected.

He swallowed as he thought about it. He wasn't a complete fool: he knew what was happening. Hank hadn't known Carly for very long, but he'd done this before. He'd put his heart on the line and had it discarded, forgotten as the years passed.

At the same time, this was different. It was like he was going down a new path that looked similar to one he'd walked many years before. It was terrifying and, now, when he looked at Carly, all he felt was lost.

What he needed to do was leave. He was at the hospital for Moira, to protect her. Hank needed to focus on that, and then get back to his quiet existence at the school. That was what he needed to focus on, the work he did there, helping protect mutantkind and his students. Not this. He wasn't ready for this. Not again.

He took a tentative step back, and Carly looked up, turning her head back and forth. A small frown puckered her face, and she took off her headphones. Hank's breath caught and his chest twisted painfully as she looked back and forth.

Hank clenched his fists, and breathed in. He quickened his steps, the pain a living, breathing thing. Terror of what all this could mean urged him to go even faster, to flee back to his room. But when he reached the counter, saw her turn toward him, he felt it ease.

"Hank," she said, smiling.

"Hey," Hank said, "Glad to meet you here. Not that, you know, you should be up, you work too hard and it's really late, but, you know..."

He was babbling, but it was like his tongue wasn't his any more. She smiled softly, and his hands relaxed.

"I'm glad you're here too," she said.


	23. Chapter 23

When Charles received word from his sister they were going in, he'd been inside Cerebro for a total of fifteen hours. His head felt worn and stretched. He was hungry, yes, but in a way that seemed very distant.

His eyes seemed like they were warming and stretching into goo. However, he had to hold on for another few hours. After that, it might all be over. All he needed to do was hold on for a little while longer, fulfill his part of the plan.

At the same time, they were going to wait for around another forty minute before starting. It was enough time to shut off the machine, grab a granola bar and some water, use the bathroom. Charles put a hand to his forehead and realized he was running a slight temperature. He'd have to rest for a while the next day. The last thing they needed was him running up a fever.

He finished his first glass of water and poured another one.

 _Dad?_

He winced. After so long in Cerebro, even a psychic whisper felt like a kick in the teeth. However, he knew it was relatively close. He took his glass of water and rolled down the hall.

Kevin was seated there with his back against the wall. He had his arms wrapped around his legs, and was looking forward with wide eyes. His expression softened when he saw Charles though.

"Kevin, it's five in the morning," Charles said, "You should be in bed."

"Can't sleep," Kevin replied, tapping his foot.

Charles looked at his watch. He had a little time.

"You've had a long day," he said, "You should rest."

"Can I just stay with you?" blurted Kevin, "I think...I think something...I mean...I just..."

He trailed off, looking at Charles desperately. Charles sighed.

"Kevin, I wish you could," he said, "I need to go back to Cerebro though and...two telepaths would disrupt it."

It was a lie and, if anyone who had been inside Cerebro heard, he knew he'd be caught out. However, a second telepath would be problematic. They might be able to glimpse what he was seeing. He didn't want to Kevin to see anything that went down at the factory that night.

He'd already seen more than enough for a lifetime.

"Can I just...I don't know, stay outside the door?" asked Kevin, "I'll go to bed right after but I just..."

He bit his lip, pulling his knees tighter. Charles frowned.

"Did something happen?" he asked.

"No," Kevin said.

It was the same kind of 'no' he'd gotten the night Laura's claws had split her skin. He glanced down at his watch and saw he only had ten minutes before the team would need him. He sighed again, putting his glass down on a nearby table.

"Grab a blanket," he said, "You can sit outside. It might not be comfortable-"

Kevin nodded and leaped to his feet. Charles watched him go, resolving to get actual details out of him as soon as everything was over. Guilt clawed at his mind. Kevin was his son. He was supposed to be his first priority.

Instead, he was off sequestered for hours upon hours.

"I'm back!" Kevin announced, a large blanket trailing behind him.

Charles smiled as Kevin walked beside him, quiet, but content, all the way to Cerebro. He could see dark circles under his son's eyes, and he seemed slightly jumpy. Again though, time was running out.

He kissed him on the top of his head before going back into Cerebro.

"Try to get some sleep," he said, "Maybe we can devote all of tomorrow to sleeping actually."

"All of today you mean?" asked Kevin.

"That's right."

Kevin smiled, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and curling up in a corner. Charles swallowed hard before going back into Cerebro. This had to end soon.

* * *

"We're in position. Roger."

Erik touched the comm on his ear.

"Good," he said, "Wait until Quicksilver gives you the signal before you go in. Roger."

"Got it. Watch the main outside light. Roger."

He pulled his finger away from the comm and looked at Logan. The feral mutant was crouched next to him, his eyes meticulously following the workers below them. It was dusk now, and many of them were turning on the outside safety lights. The main one was positioned in the middle of the compound.

At the same time, he could see that he'd cocked an ear, no doubt trying to listen in on Erik's conversation with Mystique.

"They're in position, although I assume you already know that," Erik said conversationally.

Logan snorted.

"Did Kayla say which scope she's usin?" he asked.

"She didn't say, and I declined to ask," Erik said, "Especially given your rather impassioned defense of her abilities earlier."

Logan snorted again, although this sound had a much greater degree of scorn in it than it had previously.

"And, granted, she's making things easier," said Erik, "It just does give me a moment's pause that you didn't pause before siding with her."

There was a pause, and he could've sworn Logan was glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't even turned his head. It was a true gift, Erik decided, being able to radiate that much derision with so small a look.

"It's not a great feelin, lettin someone ya love go inta battle with ya," Logan muttered after a while, "But...part o what I love about her is that she's a fighter. She'll swim upstream if she feels there's a reason, won't stop or slow the hell down. She just won't."

Logan shifted again, still looking at the factory. Erik could see how uncomfortable the situation was making him, having to talk about the people he cared about. At least in that respect, Erik understood him.

"An...ya can't just put a damn cover over that light, just coz ya don't want it to blow out," said Logan, "Even if ya can, if ya rationalize it, sooner or later, that flame's gonna run outta oxygen, die."

Logan's hands clenched and unclenched.

"Must be why Chuck keeps training all those damn kids that come ta him."

"Or his savior complex," Erik said, "Won't turn anyone away, wants to give everyone an opportunity. He sees things other people don't."

"Coz they're not there, or coz they're harder to see?" asked Logan.

Erik paused, considering.

"The second," he said at last, "If you look at Peter, the kid barely made it out of high school. No college education, a penchant for petty theft. He once agreed to break someone out of the Pentagon just to see if he could do it."

He made a gesture with his hand.

"Charles looks at him, sees teacher material, someone who can be trusted to lead others," said Erik, "Someone who won't take the easy way over what he believes to be the right way, as we saw today. He could've just left Kayla behind, gotten himself out safely, but he nearly lost his hand and suffered more than just a little blood loss so he could bring her back."

Logan raised his eyebrows.

"Him, a teacher?" he scoffed.

Irritation prickled up Erik's spine.

"Yes," he said, "He's more capable than you believe, which is why Kayla's with us right now."

"Okay then," Logan grunted.

He saw Logan's eyes dart impatiently to the factory, itching, ready to go. The main light, however, shined on.

"He some kind a family ta you?" asked Logan.

"Charles?" asked Erik.

"Nah, the kid," Logan said, "Nephew or somethin?"

"Nephew?" spluttered Erik.

"Just a thought," said Logan, "Coz that kid looks up ta you. Seen it in the way he looks at ya. Not the best role model for anyone, but who the hell am I ta judge?"

Erik frowned, his eyes dropping down to the factory.

"He really shouldn't," Erik said.

"Neither should Laura, bein perfectly fair," Logan grunted, "She asked me if she could smoke the other day, and I'm pretty sure Kayla's gonna be pissed if she repeats some of the shit I've said around her."

He chuckled again, but this laughter was fonder, warmer. Erik knew he was already picturing nights with his daughter in his arms, his lover resting her head on his shoulder. Was he as far as imagining doing homework with her, game night, visiting a carnival?

Something started to bleed inside.

"I'dve wanted her to look up ta someone else, maybe Chuck or his wife. At least she'll have Kayla, but we don't get ta choose, do we?" asked Logan.

"No," Erik said, thinking of the child he sang to sleep.

There was another pause, and Erik wished he could go back to a year ago, just for another chance to tell Nina how amazing she was. He wanted to be able to hold her in his arms, tell her her mutation was beautiful, that she was loved.

Being a father had been the only thing he'd thought he was any good at, and then she'd died in his arms.

"Seriously though," Logan said, "You two ain't related?"

The words yanked him sharply and uncomfortably out of his musings.

"No," Erik snapped, "Why do you keep asking?"

"Cause you have the same goddamn eyes," Logan snapped back, "His are darker, but it's the same damn eyes."

Erik stared at him. His first instinct was, again, to point out that their eyes were a different color. However, that wasn't what Logan was saying. He paused, thinking about the times when Peter hadn't been laughing or making a joke. He thought of the moments when he was serious, or angry, or when he was concerned.

And yes, in those moments, there was something familiar. An uncomfortable feeling started in the pit of his stomach, a strange anxiety.

 _"I'm your... I'm here for my family too."_

The main light in the compound went out, shattered by Kayla's shot. Logan jumped to his feet and started moving to the underbrush, Erik following close behind.

* * *

As soon as Kayla felt the light tap on her shoulder, Peter's quick reminder that, yes, he'd made it there and back, she shot at the main light. It shattered, causing some confusion, but there were still plenty of lights for her to see by.

Raven shifted next to her, and she heard Peter flop back, resting. She had yet to ask how he blocked all the cameras, but he'd been clutching a roll of duct tape wen he set out. It was nowhere to be found now.

The next part, constantly drawing attention to her position, was less comfortable. However, Raven had promised that her brother would follow through with his part of the plan. She needed that reassurance in a way that people like Raven and Peter probably didn't even think about.

She shot at some of the fleeing workers. Kayla kept things non-lethal: many of them might think they were drawing a legitimate paycheck. Her memories of the factory were filled with memories of worried glances sent her way, of murmurings that stopped when she came too close.

However, when she recognized Zero on the tarmac, her finger stilled. Her orders were, of course, to take out any members of Weapon X she saw. Zero had been one of her trainers. She remembered him handing her her first sniper rifle, snapping at her to change her scope, to slow down and take her time with the shot. There were times when he would help her with her targets, acting more as an irritable drill sergeant than the brutal taskmasters Vic and Essex had been.

And then she remembered the night when she'd been captured. She remembered his shots in her arms and legs, being dragged by him to Essex's lab. She remembered him watching, smirking when Essex told her about Laura, when the collar was put on.

More than anything, she remembered him leaning down as they approached Westchester, whispering in her ear:

"Time to put down your baby daddy, bitch."

She shifted the gun and aimed for his head. Kayla saw him look up, no doubt realizing where she was, and she pulled the trigger. The bullet hit home, sending him down to the ground with a spray of blood.

Kayla jerked away from the scope and reloaded. One of the Weapon X dicks were down. Now there were just three more to go.


	24. Chapter 24

The confusion was thick enough for Logan and Erik to slip through the fence. Logan thought he saw tape covering the cameras, and had to shake his head at Peter. No wonder Erik had been shocked when Logan said he was his nephew. There was an irritating playfulness in Peter that Erik point blank lacked.

Kayla had shared a basic floor plan with them through Charles. She'd been jumpy at the idea of someone inside her head, even if it was the man who had helped her at Westchester. He'd had to hold onto her shoulders the entire time Charles was inside. Even though he knew Charles was being as gentle as he dared, the fact that her hands kept twitching told him it wasn't something she'd repeat. He hoped she never had to.

He moved behind one of the trucks as a man he recognized charged out. His claws slid out effortlessly, still hurting as they bit through his skin.

"Leave him to Kayla," muttered Erik.

"He's right there," Logan hissed, glaring at Zero's back.

"And he's also shot some people I care about," Erik said.

"He didn't just shoot her," said Logan, "Bastard needs ta die."

A shot rang out, hitting him in the forehead. Logan watched as Zero sank down to the ground, blood puddling beneath him.

"It looks like Kayla agrees," Erik said, "Inside, now."

Logan gave his lover's handiwork another look before nodding. He followed Erik, swearing to himself this was the last time Kayla needed to do this. When they left Japan, she could go back to being a teacher, a sister, figure out what it meant to be a mother while he figured out what it meant to be a father.

After everything was over, they could go somewhere, take Laura and start over. It might be at the school, it might be a lumberjack community for all he cared. But this was the last time she would need to take lives to defend herself.

They entered the factory. Most of the workers had already gone outside, no doubt evacuating for what they thought was industrial espionage. Or, given their employer, maybe they thought it was some sort of organized crime ring. He didn't really care and, in any case, they weren't worried about the drones.

Essex's lab was toward the middle of the complex, right next to Stryker's office. They could end this if they took both of them out. He knew that Peter had spoken of bringing them to trial, something like that, exposing their secrets. He'd shared a look with Erik on the ride up, made sure it was understood that wasn't an option. Stryker had friends in the military. He had friends in Congress who might be more interested in saving their asses than seeing justice done.

The door to one of the side rooms opened and Erik pulled him into one of the side corridors. Guards were pouring out, no doubt the first wave of responders. They'd had perhaps three minutes of total mobility before the guards had come out, so he supposed that was a good thing.

He watched them, wondering if any of his old comrades were running among them. He thought he glimpsed a cowboy hat for a minute, and then they rounded the corner. They waited a moment longer, Erik looking warily down the hall.

There was a flicker behind his left shoulder and a hand suddenly grabbed his arm. He turned around, but the world was already blurring. Logan's lip curled, and, despite feeling like his entire lunch was about to go everywhere, he slammed his fist straight into John's face.

The world stopped in one of the antechambers. Pipes hung from the ceiling, steam hissing from a boiler. John was getting his balance, but Logan's fist caught him in the jaw, knocking him backwards.

"You're goddamn predictable, ya know that?" snapped Logan.

John wiped blood off his lip as Logan moved closer, his breathing uneven. They locked eyes for a split second. He didn't know what John had expected to see. What he did evidently surprised him and Logan saw fear there. Good. He wanted him to be afraid.

He flickered away, but Logan jerked his elbow out, slamming it into where his nose would be. John stumbled and Logan grabbed him by the shirt, slamming him into the wall. He needed him disoriented. You disoriented teleporters if you wanted to live.

"I meant what I said about predictable," Logan snarled.

He gripped the shirt around his throat tighter.

"Did you think this was a goddamn joke?" he said, "That I wouldn't care what you did to her? That thing was cutting into her throat. She was gonna die, and you all just stood there while she was Essex and Stryker's goddamn pawn! Did you think I wouldn't care?"

There was no answer. He slammed his head into the wall again.

"DID YOU THINK I WOULDN'T CARE?" he roared.

"Logan, please, just please stop."

He looked over his shoulder. Chris was there, leaning on crutches and looking frightened.

"Vic gonna pop out behind a boiler?" demanded Logan, his claws sliding from his spare hand, "Cause there's a shit ton I wanna say ta him."

"I don't know where your brother is-" Chris said.

"Oh, he doesn't get that damn title anymore," said Logan, "Hasn't been his since he pulled Kayla from that cabin."

He cracked his neck, getting ready to toss John at Chris.

"You shoulda stayed in your hospital bed bub," he said.

"Look, we just wanna talk," Chris said, "John brought you here so we could talk. Okay?"

"Nothing I wanna say ta you two assholes," snarled Logan, "And you're after him, cripple or not, I know that doesn't make what you do any less dangerous-"

"Logan, I didn't know what happened to her when you asked me for information that night," Chris said, his eyes still darting to John, "We didn't know about the collar until after Westchester-"

"Bullshit!"

"It's true," John coughed, blood splattering on his shirt, "We didn't have an opportunity ta take her away. We knew somethin was wrong though, with the collar. We exaggerated her symptoms mad Essex rethink his plans..."

He dissolved into a hacking cough. Logan wanted to toss him aside let him deal with it on his own time, but he was still a teleporter. Even injured he might be able to make his life hell. He just needed to keep him disoriented.

"John, let me talk. You need...that looks bad," Chris said.

"It'll get worse in a minute," snapped Logan.

But the urge to smash John's face in was slowly disappearing. They didn't look like Zero had, all business. They looked like they were trying to figure out what to say or do. Chris and John had always been shit at poker.

"What happened to her was wrong, no questioning that," said Chris, "And we're sorry we didn't stop it sooner. But we wanted to talk to you right now, because we found out where Essex is getting the mind control serum from. It's not good."

He paused, trying to quell the rising hatred in his throat. If he was honest, he wanted to kill them. He wanted to rip them apart and leave them as a warning to the next person who tried to lay a finger on Kayla, on Laura. He wanted to hurt them.

But there was a little girl watching him, even if she wasn't there. Taking her for motorcycle rides, even joking about letting her smoke, that was one thing. Bathing himself in the blood of anyone who came for them was another, and Laura was always watching him now.

And her mother, who had seen him off with a gentle kiss, had never wanted him to be an animal.

"You thought it might be good?" asked Logan.

"Not really," Chris said, "But I didn't think he was siphoning his son's cerebral spinal fluid."

Something flipped inside his stomach, making him feel physically ill. That had been on Kayla's skin. That had been eating into her flesh.

"The hell?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I know," said Chris, "I lost my lunch when I found out. Every time Kayla's eyes would become unfocused and I knew he was dosing her again-"

"First off," Logan growled, dropping John, "You don't get ta say her name. Let's get that clear bub."

"Okay," Chris said, shrinking back.

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, still thinking. An image flashed in his head of Laura, raising her arms to be picked up. The revulsion in his stomach tripled. Stryker had done this to his own child.

"His son," said Logan, "He down with this?"

"Not sure," said Chris, "I...I actually think he might be brain dead."

"Ya get that much shit removed from ya head, yeah, I think I'd be too," Logan said.

John was getting back to his feet, and Logan swore to himself. This was disrupting the plan, having these two telling him this, giving them another goal. That being said, he didn't know if he could just leave this particular stone unturned.

The door flew open, smacking into Chris. He yelled in pain as Erik walked in, his hand stretched out and flexing. He stopped, however, when he saw Logan standing, unperturbed. He looked down at Chris, now trapped underneath the door.

"Are you all friends now?" asked Erik.

"No way in hell," Logan said, "But ya should hear this."

* * *

Kayla took out the first four of the guards before they figured out where the gunfire was coming from. She looked over at Peter, who was eating the smashed remains of a twinkie. She decided not to ask where he'd gotten it.

"Ready to go to location B?" she asked.

"Yup," he said, licking his fingers, "Let's do this shit."

Raven rolled her eyes, but Kayla barely had time to react before she was at the second location. She knelt down as she checked for the ammunition. It was still there, hidden beneath the moss and rocks.

"Okay, gotta go take Mystique in," Peter said, "You sure you're gonna be okay?"

"You sure you are?" she asked, "I have to deal with an itchy trigger finger for ten minutes until you get back. You've still got blood loss, and I am just praying your hand doesn't get infected."

He laughed, tapping his goggles.

"All good ma'am," he said, "Just making sure you're still in one piece. Might not have the coordination to pick you up."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a good-natured punch in the shoulder. Peter might be in his twenties, but there was something in him that reminded her why she'd wanted to be a teacher. Maybe that was why he'd been attracted to a school in the first place.

"Take care of yourself," she said.

"You too Miss Wolverine."

"What?" she asked.

"First codename I could think of," he grinned.

She opened her mouth, but he darted off. Kayla smiled before kneeling and reloading her gun. It was one of the nicer models. Part of her wanted to ask Raven where she'd gotten it when everything was over, and the rest of her never wanted to pick it up again.

Kayla pulled the scope up to her eye. It gave her a good angle on three of the men, all of them facing the direction she'd been a moment ago. She capped them off easily. With so much confusion, people weren't noticing the people who'd fallen in the back.

The next two drew some stares though. They turned then, and she ducked behind her cover. She breathed slowly for a minute, getting ready to go again. In any case, her hand was doing the jerky thing again, and she needed to make sure it didn't get out of control.

She raised the gun again, firing twice before they started returning fire. It rang in her ears as it pinged off some of the nearby rocks. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the blasting echo and take a few more down.

Kayla saw that they were trying to get in some sort of organized cluster. She couldn't let that happen. Even without Zero leading them, Stryker had some damn good marksmen on his staff. She'd need to take them out.

Something grabbed her foot, jerking her backward. The gun flew out of her hands and she clipped her head on the rock formation. When she looked up, she saw Vic staring down at her, his lip curled in a smile.

"Look who's decided to join the party," he said.


	25. Chapter 25

Peter stopped outside what Kayla had told them was the armory. It might have taken someone else years to crack the code on the door, but it only took Peter two minutes to go through every possible combination on the keypad.

The door swung open, and they stepped inside. He let out a low whistle, but Raven had seen more than enough high-powered weaponry in her day. Right now, it was just about finding the right tools.

She rummaged around for a while before she found the plastic explosives. Peter whistled again.

"Stop making noise," she said.

He mimed zipping his lips before locking them and throwing away the key. She gathered up the explosives, slipping them in her bag.

"You know, my son's sixteen and he's more mature than you," she said.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, but remained grinning. She gave him a hard look, but tried not to be irritated. Despite the fact that his hand was sewn up and blood splattered on his shoes, there was a strange kind of glow about him.

She'd seen it in Kayla too, the kind that came with getting your hands dirty and still retaining a special part of you that kept you untarnished. Yes, they understood some killing might be involved, but they didn't want it, hoped to avoid it. Kayla had accepted a sniper position, but she understood they were at war. Outside of war, she'd never pick up a gun. If she took a satisfaction of the people who had threatened her family, imprisoned her, that was only natural. Peter might kill someone someday, but she knew that, when the time came, it wouldn't be intentional.

It made her want to sigh, both in sadness and frustration. Kayla was undeniably fierce, and Peter had once broken into the Pentagon just because he could, but they both had it. Whatever it was, it hadn't yet been mired by the blood and shit that she'd encountered almost immediately.

That unblemished soul appeared differently to different people. Peter's glow drew children to him as their friend and protector. He made friends easily. Kayla's had been recognized by Logan, drawn in by that glow, that acceptance.

But it was probably the same reason why his brother wanted to kill her. It was the same reason she knew Peter had been taken advantage of in the past, why he would be again. Peter had never opened up to her, but she hadn't had to hear him say it. Her son was like him, had that same glow, and she knew he'd been hurt.

People like them needed to be protected by people like her, like Logan and Erik. Yes. Erik, more than anyone, should be protecting Peter. He was the part of him that hadn't been broken, whether he knew it or not.

She handed him the bag.

"You remember what to do with these?" she asked.

"Yeah, pfft, no biggie," he said, "You just go and get that data, 'kay?"

"Don't trip," she said.

Peter stuck his tongue out and zipped past her. She smiled and picked up a nearby semi-automatic before slipping into the hall.

* * *

Kayla shoved her foot upwards, putting all of her strength behind the blow that barrelled into Vic's stomach. He let go and she scrambled back, getting a good fistful of dirt in her searching hand.

He turned back and she flung it in his face, specifically, his eyes. He started rubbing it away, but she knew all of it hadn't gotten in. It would buy her another second, maybe two, and she hoped it would be enough for what she had to do.

She snatched up the gun, throwing the strap over her shoulder. She felt his claws latch onto her shoulder, ripping open her arm. She stifled the scream of pain, her fingers jerking erratically as he yanked her around.

Her other hand found a knife, and she buried it in his ribs. He stumbled away and she jumped for the nearest tree. Kayla knew better than to think she could run from Vic, but she didn't need to be kept away forever. She just needed a few more minutes, six or seven before Peter came back.

Kayla grabbed the lowest branch and hauled herself up. Her injured arm screamed and shook under the pressure. Her teeth ground together and she put more weight on her uninjured arm. A hand grabbed her leg, but she slammed her heel into Vic's face. A crunch of bone echoed through the woods, as well as a curse. She climbed up three more branches, just out of hands reach.

There was a snap and she whirled around, resting the gun in the crook of her shoulder. It pressed into her injury painfully, but, as Zero had once said to her, who's gonna give a damn about that? No one.

When she focused, she saw Vic was in her sight, and she fired. The force of the shot made her wobble on her perch. It slammed into his forearm, shattering bone. He growled, but let go. It made sure he wouldn't be able to climb until it healed.

The frustrating thing was that might only be a minute. He knew it too from the feral smirk on his damned lips, the way he grinned up at her. She resisted the urge to shoot him just for smiling. He healed fast, and she needed to conserve ammo. Stall if she could.

"Thought foxes didn't climb trees," he said casually.

Her blood was thrumming fast

"I'm full of surprises asshole," she said, "And I'm not dying today."

He shook his head.

"Nah," he said, "Today I'm wrenching your head from your shoulders. Leave it as a present."

His tone was level, a pitying, arrogant look on his face. It was the same way he'd looked when he'd found her in the cabin. Unable to sleep, she'd disentangled herself from Logan's arms. Kayla had grabbed her clothes and dressed before she'd gone into the living room, thinking.

Until three hours before, she'd been in a fugue state. At the time she'd thought her sister had died, killed because of her own mistake. There had been two years when she had eaten, breathed, killed, been prodded with needles and cut up for her Emma. It was all to keep her safe for the day when she could reclaim her. It was the only reason she was still living.

Then Logan had wriggled into her life and heart. She'd fought with herself, saying it was selfish to look beyond Emma. But she'd given in, telling herself again and again that it wasn't wrong to want this one thing for herself. Kayla had told herself that she'd give up Logan if it meant saving Emma, that it was understood her own wants and needs came second.

And it had. She'd left him betrayed and heartbroken in order to save her sister. But she'd failed, and it had all come crashing down. What had been the point of any of it if she didn't have Emma? The lies, betrayal, blood spilled, lives ruined, it didn't matter. It had been for nothing.

But he'd loved and wanted her anyway, told her he'd go where she went. She would mourn her sister, but she had someone else she needed to live for. Broken and defeated though she might have been then, he still made her feel whole. She suspected it was similar for him.

Even though she had never felt more like nothing that morning, those three hours when he'd told her he loved her, held her, let her hold him, had been some of the brightest in her life. Although she knew Laura hadn't had a traditional entry into the world, she chose that night to think of as the one she was conceived. It was the night she'd started to live again, and realized she would live through the agony and sadness, because he was there with her.

The last realization had come when she was sitting on the couch. She had just started to feel the tears come when Vic's hand had grabbed her around the mouth, yanking her out of the cabin and into the front yard. Then there was pain, his claws ripping into her. But, somehow, she'd healed, gone looking for the one person in her life. To learn later Emma was alive was almost more than she could bear. That there was a child too, it was frightening in some ways.

Not as frightening as Vic should be though. However, all she felt was fury as she stared at him. Fury that he would try to take her from the people she loved yet again. She deserved them now, deserved a chance to hold her sister, to meet her daughter, to be with Logan.

She wanted to hurt him, an urge she'd rarely felt as a young woman training to be a schoolteacher. At the same time, she also knew she needed to conserve ammunition, land a headshot and then try to take out some of the people of the factory. Shoot him again, shoot at some of the people at the factory.

But she wanted to hurt him first, really hurt him.

"You know he doesn't think of you as his brother anymore?" she said casually, "You're nothing anymore. To him, it's just me, our daughter."

He was getting angry, and she smirked as she made sure the gun was perfectly balanced.

"And do you know what?" she asked, "He's fond of Emma too. So it looks like he's got a sister now."

Vic lunged and she pulled the trigger. The shot hit him in the center of the head, and she immediately raised the gun so she could see the marksmen at the factory. She shot three of them before she looked down and saw Vic healing.

Kayla shot him in the head again before raising the scope to the factory, blood running down her shoulder.

Just a few minutes more.

* * *

It was supposed to take Peter five minutes to set all the charges. It wasn't a question of speed though. The instructions were complicated, and they required thought, even for someone as fast as him. After that, it would take ten seconds to run and grab Kayla, ten seconds back.

They would all rendezvous at the exit, Kayla covering their path. His dad and Logan would come out with Essex and the rest, Raven having gathered the data she needed and hit the fire alarm. That would give everyone time to get out.

After that, they would blow the place. Essex would be kept knocked out, which was why Peter still had the tranquilizer gun. If things went south and they didn't manage to take him down, he'd step in. It was the one thing Essex would never see coming, his dad said.

Grinning, Peter set the final charge and began heading for Kayla's position. He was running a little early, something he prided himself on, and he was looking forward to a chance to rest for a minute or two. He'd never admit it to anyone, but the blood loss was affecting him more than he'd thought it would.

A beeping noise reached his ears and, curious, he looked to the side. The sight made him stop, his feet skidding to a stop. A man only a few years younger than him was in a hospital bed, his eyes closed and his breathing even.

Frowning, Peter peered over him. The man looked emaciated, almost ragged. A thought occurred to him, and he checked the man's neck. Nope, no collar. No nasty scars like Kayla, so it looked like they hadn't tried it on him either.

Peter scratched the back of his neck, examining the different equipment. It looked like it was mostly monitors, not life support. He looked at the man for a moment longer, then shrugged. He had time to spare for someone who needed help.

He unhooked the IV as carefully as possible. He was busy taking out a second one when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Jumping, Peter looked back and saw two mismatched eyes staring back at him.

"Hey, it's okay," Peter said, "I'm here to help. We're just-"

And then the pain started.


	26. Chapter 26

Once Kayla had fired the first shot, Charles had quickly left Peter's mind. He'd only been there long enough to establish who was where. He'd known where to find Essex, or at least had a good idea. The problem with trying to track another telepath was making sure that you stayed close, but not close enough for them to catch you. It was the same concept as tracking a very powerful mutant. He'd learned his lesson the hard way from fighting Nur.

But they couldn't have a telepath loose in the halls, something Erik had been very clear about and Charles had agreed with. Kayla, in particular, hadn't actually known Essex was a telepath. He'd seen the way she'd seized up when he mentioned that. After having the physical manifestation of control around her neck, to know Essex had never really needed it had frightened her.

However, he'd reassured her that he wouldn't come after her: Charles wouldn't allow it. Essex was a monster, that much was true and, if he could at all be useful, he could at least restrain him to the point where the others could do something.

He found Essex in his lab, tinkering away with a collar design, muttering to himself. Charles gathered himself as Essex straightened, frowning. Then he latched into his mind, wrestling him to the floor.

Charles was surprised with what he'd seen. After the previous debacle with Cerebro, using it to find Essex hadn't been in the cards. He had, however, expected to see the same pale, smirking man who occupied a place in some of his worst nightmares.

Instead, he saw something different. He saw a man whose hand had been stitched together, but from the bent of his fingers, Charles could tell he'd lost mobility. The left side of Essex's face was slack, but also still.

 _Admiring your handiwork?_

The thought was bitter and loud. Charles shook off his shock and pressed in. He needed to keep him from acting, from trying to rally or escape.

 _You did this you know,_ snarled Essex pushing himself up, _Back at Westchester. Not the hand: X-23's bone structure, especially its teeth, are very strong. I'll have to remember that._

He felt Essex push back, a feeling which shook him in his seat.

 _What was that that you did then?_ Essex demanded, W _hat was that?_

 _That,_ Charles snapped back, w _as pain._

 _Obviously._

The answer made Charles want to roll his eyes, but he had something much more important in front of him. Cerebro was amplifying his power now. Although Essex was oceans and continents away, it was the first time he had been able to bring Cerebro's full force to bear on the man.

Slowly, he started pushing Essex to the ground. He fought back, his powers still sharp but weaker than Charles remembered. He thought of the slackened face: paralysis from a stroke? Caused by a brain aneurysm?

Sweat began to bead on Charles's forehead. He breathed in calmly, trying to do things slow and methodical. He needed to conserve energy, do things right. If things went well, he could end it all. There would be no need to drag Essex into the part of his mind fortified like the school. He would be able to see the birth of his son in safety _-_

 _Oh, you're expecting the baby to be early? Why is that?_

Charles slammed down as much as he could in Essex's mind. The man howled and Charles applied pressure, envisioning a heavily booted foot on Essex's chest. So much of Charles's life had been a prayer that cooler heads would win out, that talking would be an option.

Right now, it wasn't. Right now, the most humane method was keeping him here, pinned to the ground. Essex was still fighting him, but it was getting weaker. It truly could end tonight if everything else went well.

A ripple blasted across his mind, making him loosen his grip on Essex's mind in shock. Essex quickly occupied the empty space, pushing back.

 _Well, it looks like someone woke up daddy's boy,_ laughed Essex.

* * *

Erik clutched the side of his head, feeling a headache ripple through him. Everyone around him did so too, their brows pinched together. The sharpness of the pain was gone quickly, but the sensation that something was horribly wrong wasn't.

"The hell was that?" asked Logan.

"Dunno," said Chris, licking his lips nervously, "But I don't...I don't think it was good. Think Essex is starting to-?"

"We have someone on that," Erik said brusquely.

He touched his comm, looking around.

"Mystique?" he asked, "Did you feel that?"

"Sure did," she said, the sound of clicking keys audible, "What happened?'

"We don't know yet," Erik said, "Tell you when I find out."

He switched channels.

"Quicksilver, check in," he said.

There was no answer. An unsettling feeling spiked up inside him, and he hoped the speedster was just running so fast he couldn't hear.

"Quicksilver?" he demanded.

Still no answer. Not even static. He locked eyes with Logan for a minute.

"I'd say he's probably fine," he said, "But that's probably bullshit."

Erik grabbed his phone. He dialed Charles irritably, waiting for him to pick up. He knew Charles didn't like using the cell phone when Cerebro was powered up, but this was clearly an emergency.

The phone rang out and Erik swore. John moved a little closer.

"We gotta get goin," he said,

"You shut up," Erik said.

 _Erik, what's wrong?_

Charles sounded strained, but Erik didn't have much time to figure out why.

 _Peter's missing,_ he said, _We need to find him, but I don't know-_

 _One...just one second. Essex is proving difficult but...yes...I think so._

Erik waited, his hand gripping the phone tightly before shoving it back into his pocket.

 _Three doors down and to the right. He's not, wait, I just need to-_

He took off sprinting, signaling the rest to follow him. Logically, Peter being taken out of commission would mean he wouldn't be able to pick up Kayla. There would be no cover fire, and they would have to loop back to pick her up. The plan would have gaping holes they couldn't afford.

On another, much stranger level, he wasn't leaving the boy behind. No one was going to get left behind just because they didn't have the time to save them, a thought which sang of Charles. However, he remembered Peter's face on the plane, telling him with a part of his life he'd clearly rather forget just to say he hadn't been a mistake. He trusted him, for better or worse.

And then there were his own thoughts, terrified and insidious, as to who Peter was.

 _He's in there with some sort of...not a telepath exactly. He's doing something to him,_ Charles said, _I'm fighting him but it's different. Whatever he is, he's strong. I need to figure out how to-_

 _You have one minute before I reach him and kill him_ , said Erik.

 _Erik!_

 _I'm serious!_ he snapped, _You know I am!_

 _Just...I need...dammit!_

He knew it was too much to ask. Charles was fighting Essex, finding Peter and fighting a telepath all at once. But he'd seen Emma's mother use her mutation on enemies, had felt it himself. He knew how that felt, what kind of pain that was.

At the end of the hall, a glass door stood in between him and the room.

 _I have him distracted, but I can't hold them both!_ Charles said.

 _I just need a minute,_ Erik said, _This telepath, is he near the door?_

 _Yes, straight in front of it. Why?_

 _Then let go when he goes blank! Three-_

The door was coming close. He reached out his hand.

 _I can't hold them much longer!_

He was almost there.

 _Two-_

 _Erik!_

 _Three!_

* * *

Peter blinked, trying to find his bearings. His hand rested on the stair, a hand that was considerably less scarred, less calloused than he'd known. He frowned and flexed his fingers, putting his hand on his cheek.

He looked around him, trying to figure out what was going on, where he was. Obviously he was at his house, but he didn't know what that meant. He hadn't been on the stairs a few minutes before, he knew that much. He'd actually been in a lab, or a factory, right?

His father stormed in from the living room, and Peter stared. No, not father. That wasn't right. He was his stepfather. But...why? There was a suitcase in his hand, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He saw him turn to glare at him as he got ready to head to the door. Peter kept staring.

"What the hell are you doing?" his stepfather snapped.

"Making sure you don't take the silver when you go," Peter heard himself say, "Or any of the good records. Most of the music's shit, but there's some good stuff mixed in."

His stepfather snarled, and he knew he was going to before he did it. How did he know he was going to do it? And those words. He was sure he'd said them before once upon a time, but he also knew he'd been smirking when he said it.

"You know what? Fine," his stepfather said, "I'm done. I'm done with this stupid house, with a freak for a son-"

Szambonurek. The word came out of nowhere, and he didn't even know what it meant.

"-one who isn't even mine!"

Something inside his stomach dropped.

"Huh?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, no point pretending anymore," his stepfather said, "You know what? How about you do everyone a favor after all this is over, go to your mother, and ask her who the hell she screwed when we were engaged? Might be enlightening about how I wound up saddled with you."

Peter stared, his hands feeling less like his and more like a stranger's.

"Only reason I said I'd marry her was because I kept hoping she'd miscarry," he said, yanking the door open, "But she didn't, and she should've."

He spat on the floor.

"You were a mistake, and one I'm glad I don't have to deal with anymore," he said.

The door slammed, but Peter felt frozen in place. Part of him wanted to run after his stepfather, demand to know what he was talking about. He wanted to make sure his mom was okay after all that yelling, but he also wanted to know the truth, because that couldn't be who he was. He couldn't be that, couldn't have come from-

There was a shattering noise, and Peter jerked his head. He was lying on the concrete floor of the room near the hallway on the right side where he came in. His head felt like oatmeal, but someone was kneeling next to him, jerking him up.

Peter looked around him. The door had been busted in, hitting the man with the mismatched eyes. Glass was everywhere, but the man seemed out cold. Three people were babbling about something, but the fourth seemed to be babbling at him.

He blinked another couple of times, and his father, the one parent who had never thought of him as a mistake, was looking at him. His face was hard, concerned, and Peter managed to grin. It was expected of him.

"Heeey," he drawled.

"Are you alright?" his father asked.

"I'm good," Peter said.

"No, are you actually alright?" he demanded, "What did he do?"

Peter grabbed his father's shoulder, using it to pull himself further up.

"Just dredged up some old bullshit," he said, "Nothing new. Just...I thought he was a prisoner here, so I tried to help. I mean, I was wrong but...just..."

His father kept looking at him, and Peter cracked a genuine smile.

"I mean, what a szambonurek, am I right?" he said.

Finally, his father smiled.

"Right," he said.


	27. Chapter 27

Kayla was feeling her fingers start to cramp up. She was, more or less, used to that feeling. She'd been made to shoot until her fingers bled in the past. That had been one of Stryker's ideas.

What was concerning was the lack of ammunition. Initially she'd had plenty of ammo. However, most of it had been back at her perch where she had started out. It was out of reach to her now, unless she wanted Vic to attack her when they were on a level playing field.

There just wasn't time. She figured out that Vic started to move every time she counted to three hundred, and that was when she shot him. Kayla would start counting the second the shot rang out, and then she would fire when she reached three hundred.

But she was also shooting at the marksmen, which took ammo too. She had to be the distraction, but she didn't have an endless supply of bullets to use on them. Kayla was sure that Peter should have been back by now, and she knew enough to know something had gone wrong. She was concerned. Peter was hard not to like, and he'd lost a lot of blood.

She paused and checked her gun, just to figure out how much more ammunition she had. Five shots. She leaned her head against the tree, thinking to herself. Five shots meant five counts to three hundred, or two counts with distracting enough people to keep them from thinking they'd got her and turning their attention inside.

Struggling to lift herself up, she saw that Vic was starting to move again. She shot him in the head, and looked back at the people. They were waiting for her, and she fired one shot, then waited a while before firing the next one. Two more bullets left.

The only real decision left to make was whether or not she was going to try running from Vic or sheltering in place. Peter might be on his way and, if she ran, he might not be able to find her. If she waited too much longer, then there might not be enough left of her to run.

Kayla had no illusions: whatever healing factor Essex had managed to duplicate from Logan, it wasn't anywhere near his level. If Vic stopped her heart, then she would die. Given her earlier comments to him, that was a very real possibility. He'd do it anyway, but the method would probably be more painful now.

He moved again, and she shot him in the head. Kayla swallowed, and decided she'd have to stay. Running from Vic wouldn't do any good. She might be able to fight him off for a while if she was ready at a higher altitude. He'd know she was out of bullets as soon as he saw her, it would be the only reason he was up, but he might not be ready for just how much fight she had.

She had to try and hold out for as long as she could. Peter might be able to whisk her away if she waited. At the same time, every minute she kept Vic occupied was another minute he couldn't spend going after Logan, or some of the people on the team who wouldn't heal. Kayla couldn't run.

Vic stirred, and she shot him in the head. She peered through the scope, seeing that the marksmen were beginning to disperse. Not much she could do about that now, and she hoped that they had already set the charges. If she wasn't there, she also hoped Erik and Raven would be able to provide enough cover. Logan was more of a short range fighter.

She heard a noise and looked down. Vic was starting to move over, shoving his body up. Fear was curling in her stomach, but she tamped it down. She had a minute, maybe two, to get ready. Emotions were not welcome.

She drew her knife, turning it up so it was hidden underneath her sleeve. Then she turned the gun around, ready to use it as a club. She'd have to aim it at the nose, maybe shove the bone straight up into his brain. It would take a lot of strength to do so, but she might get lucky.

Vic got up, scratching the back of his head. He started to smile when he saw her, and then looked casually around. He smiled even wider when he did, and started circling the tree. Her body tensed, watching him.

"So, no one here ta save ya, huh?" he asked.

She scoffed, even though her heart was beating furiously. Her fingers were twitching, and her toes were moving around in her shoes. It was likely he could see the sweat it was calling forth, smell the adrenaline seeping through her pores. She didn't doubt that at all. He knew he could kill her. He knew she was scared.

Damned if she would admit it though.

"I'm not going down easy this time Vic," she said, "You wanna drag me from this world? I'll be kicking and scratching all the way."

Vic nodded, folding his hands across his chest. He was still circling now, looking up and down.

"Ya know why this hasta happen right?" he asked.

"I know why you think it does," she replied, her hands sweaty and voice hot.

He raised his eyebrows, and she shook her head.

"You think you can't share him," she said, "Don't want your brother living his own life. Not with a lover, not with a daughter or a sister-in-law."

She looked down and, at least until he moved, she made sure their eyes made contact.

"So you'd rather he hate you forever than let him know there's a life without you in it," she said, "You know how seriously screwed up that is, right?"

He laughed, his eyes still going up and down the tree. She swallowed again, because she knew exactly what was going on. Part of her was swearing about the fact she hadn't fled for her life. But she had a part to play.

This way, even if she never saw Laura or Emma again, she'd know they could be proud of her.

"Not as dumb as you look then," Vic said, "I mighta liked ya, if things were different,"

She scoffed again, her lips dry.

"No," she said, "You wouldn't have."

He cocked his head.

"Yeah," he said.

Vic launched himself at the tree, his claws digging into the bark. She slammed the butt of her gun into his face, but he jerked his face away at the last minute. It slammed into his cheek, and he used the other hand to yank it away from her.

She slid the knife out of her sleeve and stabbed it toward his throat. Again, he moved, and she drove it deep down next to his collarbone. It still did the trick and made him lose his balance. Not before he sank his claws into her wounded shoulder though, dragging her down with him.

Her back slammed against a tree branch, sending pain spider-webbing through her back. At the same time, Vic's claws were digging into her shoulder even further, raking downward and ripping her jacket. If she lived, she would have even more scars from his claws.

They hit the ground hard, and her back screamed. Nothing was broken, at least she didn't think so. She gritted her teeth together as tightly as possible, reaching out. Kayla managed to grab the knife, her hand slippery with sweat, and she wrenched it down.

It splintered into the bone, and he grabbed her hand. She let go of the knife and wriggled out of his grasp before he could break her fingers. He yanked it out, tossing it away. Kayla brought her hand around, shoving her fingers into the area between his eye and skull.

He smashed his head down, slamming into her forehead. The impact made her see stars, disorienting her. A sharp pain in her side brought her back, his claws digging into her side and slowly coming around to her stomach.

"Not…again!" she yelled

Kayla managed to move her hand to where she could knock his away. It only made him grab onto her hair, pulling her to the side as he clambered to his feet. She tried to kick him, but he slammed her into a tree. The level of disorientation increased, and she punched him in his face.

He simply grinned, his eyeteeth gleaming. One of his hands slammed around her throat, the claws digging slowly into the flesh there. She grabbed onto his hand, trying to find some way to loosen in his grip, but the lack of oxygen to her brain, combined with her disorientation, made it difficult.

He was still grinning, and she felt him draw the tip of his claw across her throat. It was a light touch, but she knew exactly what that meant, what it foreshadowed. Kayla tried kicking out, but without air, it was weak. He barely did more than raise an eyebrow.

"Hey-o!"

His hand abruptly let go of her throat. She gasped and choked, falling to her knees. Blood speckled the ground, her hands, but not enough to bleed out. Kayla forced herself to lean back, to look and try to figure out what had just happened.

Her entire body was wired, the adrenaline still prickling through her skin. Her heart was thumping wildly, and she tried to calm herself down. She had nearly died. She had nearly left, and she had just gotten everything back.

The air stirred, and Peter was crouched in front of her, pulling what looked like more duct tape from his pocket.

"OhmyGod. I am so freakin sorry I'm late. There was a crazy guy with weird eyes. I suck at bandages, but I can make something outta this, I think," he said, "Or we can just duct tape it until it heals or the Professor has Hank possess Mysty again."

"Where's Vic?" she asked.

"Who?"

"The asshole…Logan's brother," she coughed.

His eyes widened. Peter looked to the side, and he made a vague gesture.

"Uhhhhh…I think I dropped him at the bottom of the mountain and used three rolls of duct tape to tie him to a tree," he said, "He kinda freaked me out. Think that'll hold him?"

"For awhile anyway," Kayla said.

She staggered to her feet, and Peter rushed to her side.

"No, no, we need to, I dunno, bandage it or tape it or something like that," he said, "We can't just-"

"Peter, I need to get down there," she said, "I won't bleed out before I heal. I'll have some scars but...right now, I'm good."

"Okay, not the definition of good."

"Maybe not, but I need to get down there," she snapped, "I need to give cover fire. I need to make sure they don't have everyone firing at them. You need to be there in case we have any inured. We need to be where we need to be! That's how..."

She blinked a few times, realizing Peter was staring at her. She needed to calm down. Kayla pinched the bridge of her nose.

"That's how I get home, wherever that is," she said.

"It's the school," Peter said, "I guarantee that."

She managed a small smile, and gripped his shoulder.

"So get me to where I can give cover," she said, "And we need to make a pit stop by where you dropped me last for ammo, but we need to be quick. I want to be in position in the next minute."

"Okay," he said, "But I'm duct taping you back together when we get there."

He grinned.

"And, don't tell Logan, but Laura's super lucky she takes after you in the looks department," he said, "Because, if that asshole was Logan's brother, then there is an uh-ugly streak that runs in that family."

The laughter came, not hysterical or sharp, and she realized this was why she liked Peter.


	28. Chapter 28

Telling Peter to slow down was, as Erik had expected, the equivalent of telling someone to swallow a mountain: they just couldn't do it. He'd had to shake his head at Peter's insistence that, no, he was going to get Kayla right away. As soon as Logan realized he was already late, the argument was practically over.

After he was gone, the issue of what to do with Stryker's son came up. Killing him now that he was helpless felt foolhardy, but taking him with them would be foolish too. He'd been strong enough to give Charles trouble and it was unlikely they could use him as a bargaining chip against Stryker.

However, the fact that he was now slung over John's shoulder, gagged and bound, showed how well those points had been received. In some ways he was relieved, but it also meant he would have to keep a close eye on him.

Erik irritably tapped his comm link.

"Mystique, how's the download coming?" he asked.

"Good," she said, "What was up with the headache?"

"Another one of Stryker's mutants," he said, "He was dealt with. Quicksilver's on his way to pick up Kayla right now, meaning they should be in position soon."

"Still heading to the lab?"

"Yes," said Erik, turning the corner, "Do you know where Stryker is?"

There was a pause. No doubt she was flickering through security footage.

"I've got a lock on his location," she said, "The download's almost done. You all focus on Essex. I'll take care of things with him on the way out."

"That's not part of the original plan," said Erik.

"No, but it's easier," she said, "I'll be seven minutes extra, tops. I don't think that'll affect things too much."

Erik snorted.

"You know that's not true," he said.

"I'll make it true," she said, "If I'm having an issue, I'll tell you. You just focus on Essex and those Weapon X assholes."

He looked at John and Chris out of the corner of his eye.

"It's mostly taken care of," he settled on.

"Good. I'll see you at the exit."

* * *

"Damn!" Peter said.

He knelt down, panting. Things felt a little hazy, but he figured he'd dropped them by a good location. There was lots of cover provided by the trees and rocks, and no one was looking. By their estimation, it would be out of the blast range. The most they would get was singed when he pulled the trigger.

However, the wooziness was starting to kick back in again, and he felt ill. Kayla's hand touched his shoulder.

"When was the last time you had something to drink?" she asked.

"Um...I dunno," Peter said, "In the car. Maybe. It was Tab."

She rolled her eyes and reached into her bag. He took the moment to take a really good look at her. It seemed like she'd stopped bleeding, so maybe he wouldn't have to duct tape her. That was kind of a shame, because he'd wanted to see if that would work.

Kayla took out a canteen and handed it to him.

"Water, now," she said.

He didn't argue. His throat was scratchy, something he couldn't believe he hadn't recognized before then. Peter gulped half of it down in one go, resting his back against a tree. It felt strangely comfortable, and the urge to fall asleep started to creep in.

"Miss Wolverine, if I start to fall asleep, can you like, slap me?" he asked, "I need to stay awake."

She rolled her eyes, but it wasn't the kind of irritated eye roll he got from Raven or Logan. It was a bit more playful, kind of like she actually thought he was funny. Peter squinted at her, taking another drink of water from the canteen.

"How old are you?" he asked.

Kayla raised her eyebrows as she started reloading her gun.

"That's not a polite question," she replied.

"No, I wanna figure something out," he said, "How old are you?"

She tilted her head back, thinking. He didn't like that she had to think about it.

"Twenty-seven," she said.

"Holy shit, that's one year older than me!" Peter blurted.

Kayla shouldered her gun, nodding as though waiting for him to start making sense. He gestured at her.

"How old is Logan?" he asked.

She laughed and Peter sighed. She just thought he was asking because he thought Logan was too old for her. He started taking another sip of water.

"Peter, Logan's more or less immortal," she said, "He was born in 1835."

Peter spit out the water. Kayla withdrew, shaking her head in disgust. He realized then some of the water had sprayed onto her arm.

"Totally sorry about that," he said, "But son of a monkey, I did not know that. Dude's over a century old!"

"Yeah. Ask him about the Civil War sometime and prepare to have your mind blown," she said, "Ask him about any war actually: he's fought in every American one since then."

He suppressed the urge to drink some more water so he could spit it out.

"But to answer your question, I'd say he's stuck somewhere in his early to mid-thirties," Kayla said, "There are worse ages to be stuck in."

"Like?" asked Peter.

She grinned and locked the ammunition in place.

"Sixteen," she said, "You're slightly gawky, your voice cracking, and eternal acne? No thanks."

"Shit, yeah," Peter said, "Sixteen sucked."

He drank some more water, wondering if he should let the topic drop. It wasn't exactly the time to talk about it right now, but he felt it needed to be addressed.

"But...you've been through so much more than I have," he said, "Like, you've just...I know the last three years were pretty screwed up, four or so I guess, but...yeah..."

She stopped what she was doing, and he wondered if he sounded as big an idiot as he felt. When she turned to him though, he didn't see contempt. All he saw was a quiet acknowledgement of his words.

"When I was ten, I thought tough was not crying when my dad stitched up a knee I'd cut open on the ground. When I was twenty-three, I thought the epitome of tough was being able to go the whole day without eating to make sure Emma had enough food," she said, "I could live on coffee and crackers if I had to. I thought that was the worst of it. I didn't know about that little part inside of you that makes it so you don't throw up when you see someone disemboweled, that part of you that lets you pull the trigger. I didn't know then."

Kayla sighed.

"No matter how strong you think you are, there's always another level that will be required," she said, "Killing people isn't strength but, what I went through…I was surviving Peter. My survival required their death. That's all."

She shrugged. He pulled his legs up to his chest, taking a long gulp of water.

"Children change things Peter," she said, "I'm sure Laura's already changed Logan. He's never been great with children, but I remember seeing him hold her, like she was this precious thing. They're…she's the part of me that's that level of tough I was when I was ten. I want to preserve that as much as possible, but I know you have to be strong in this world. I just want…I want the best for her."

Kayla shouldered her rifle, putting it into position.

"Even if I don't want growing up knowing about that other level of tough, I want to let her know that I can be that for her," she said, "I want to be able to protect her no matter what happens. Children change everything. You'll understand that one day, I think."

Peter didn't answer. He thought of the little sister he'd never know. Had she changed his father? Had she been the real reason Magneto hadn't risen in ten years? Had his father wanted to be something else for her, wanted to protect her, change?

Would he want to change for him? Peter finished the water and leaned back. He didn't know but, as the feeling built in his chest, he knew he wanted to find out as soon as he could. The time was running out when he could pretend otherwise.

* * *

Raven slipped the floppy disk into a case in her pack and moved through the hall. She'd seen Stryker try to coordinate efforts for a while in his command office. He'd been doing a pretty decent job, especially considering he didn't know everything that was going on.

But, at the same time, she was also there in time to see that he left once it became clear the facility had been breached. Raven had marveled at his cowardice for a moment, but it shouldn't have surprised her. He probably hadn't survived Logan's rampage at the compound by bravely staying put.

She slipped through the doors, moving slowly. She came across a guard who looked rather dead, blood coming from a slash in his chest, and she swore under her breath. They'd have to have a talk with Logan about curbing these tendencies. Charles was averse to these things, and Raven really didn't want to have to deal with a lecture. Not when they were back at the school where Kurt might overhear.

However, he did provide a good template. She took some of his standard weapons as she hid the body, taking note of his different physical features. Mystique shifted, and she started charging down the halls. Erik and the rest were on the other side of the compound, and anyone she'd run into now would just think she was trying to get into her position. No point in walking when you could run.

Stryker was trying to leave by one of the back exits. She wondered if she could do things quietly, maybe just knock him out, but she didn't know how things were going with Erik and the rest. Raven would just have to move as quickly as possible while keeping as cognizant of what she was doing as she could. It would kind of be fun to see Stryker stand trial after all, even if she would only hear it secondhand.

Raven rounded the corner, and saw movement. She ducked just in time to avoid being put in a chokehold. She spun and turned back, slamming her elbow into Stryker's stomach and shoving him in front of her. He hit the ground, but pulled a gun.

She dodged the first shot and slapped it out of his hands before he could fire again. He kicked at her legs, knocking her down. Stryker dropped then, the weight of his knee pressing onto her stomach and knocking the air from her lungs. His hands went around her throat, ready to squeeze out the rest of the air.

Her throat constricting, she brought around one of her hands, shifting back into her real skin. Her throat became more slender, giving her a slight advantage. As Stryker sought to readjust his grip to a smaller neck, she backhanded him, letting the spikes on her hand dig into his face.

He pulled back, and Raven reached for a weapon. The gun was right there, and it would be easy to shoot him in the head and have it be done with. There was something else at her hip though, something taken from the dead guard, something much better.

Raven drew the taser and aimed it for his forehead. The lines went out, latching onto his face and sending juddering bolts throughout his body. He fell away from her, twitching. Raven took a moment to savor a deep breath, greedily drinking in the air.

Once she had enough oxygen to ensure she wasn't about to pass out, she got to her feet. The twitching had all but stopped, but she could see Stryker was still moving. She gave him a thin smile.

"Payback really is a bitch," she said.

Then she lashed out with her foot, kicking away any shreds of consciousness.


	29. Chapter 29

Charles felt the pressure behind his eyes building and building. His nose was bleeding onto the tops of his chest and legs, worming its way into his lips. He knew there would be fallout from that, namely the fact that Kevin was waiting in the hall. He didn't want him to see this again.

That was what he chose to believe was the worst of this, because he knew the truth was rather more complicated. He was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open. He'd only passed out once in Cerebro, and the machine had been disconnected then.

He needed to be on his game. Essex wasn't giving up without a fight. He didn't know if Erik was arriving soon, although he hoped he was. Even with his abilities, there was only so much he could do at long distance.

 _You know, as much as I love our little chats, I can't quite see why I'm being held here,_ Essex observed, _It's not very sporting._

 _I'm not in the mood for games._

 _I'm not either_ , Essex said, _Which is, quite frankly, why all of this confuses me so much. Are you expecting something physical to happen? If you are, I think they're taking a rather long time._

So did Charles, but things had become complicated. Peter's safety was, of course, a priority, but saving him had carved out time from Erik's schedule. If something else had happened, then Charles would have to hold back Essex for quite a while.

He realized he was going to have to do something unless Erik showed up in the next few seconds. Charles didn't know if he had the necessary strength to send a message to Erik and find out if he was on his way and hold Essex in place. There was still quite a bit he could do, even with most of the base evacuated.

Charles wished he was stronger, but he was feeling a bone-deep exhaustion he hadn't felt in a long time. After the fight with Jason, a name which had sparked in his head when he pushed back against the man with the mismatched eyes, he'd felt significantly weaker. At the time he'd just wanted to keep him from making Peter hurt himself and keep him in place until Erik arrived.

Right now though, he needed to get Essex into his place of power. The walls in his own mind were strong, built brick by brick over the years. The replica of Westchester was almost a perfect match for the school he'd dedicated his life to. It had proved to be a lifesaver as he struggled against those who would invade his mind. The only person still living besides him who knew its true complexity was Jean.

Essex had been there once though, which meant he'd have at least some idea of how things were. Taking him back there was somewhat risky, given how deep it was in his mind and how much of himself was embodied there. He'd only taken him there on the mission to rescue Moira because, frankly, he'd been too frightened and, later, furious, not to do so.

Now though, he swallowed whatever reservations he had, because he didn't have much of a choice. He'd have to lure Essex there, and he began to give ground in his mind. Essex was cautious to take the bait at first. He'd be a fool not to be.

However, Essex's own ego and, if Charles was right, curiosity, wouldn't allow him to leave this particular stone unturned. There was too much to be learned and, though he might pretend differently, exploited. Essex would want to know about his child's impending birth, about Laura, maybe even Emma.

He inched back even further, bringing himself to the threshold of the school. Mists swirled around him as the school raised itself from the ground. He stepped backward over the welcome mat, forcing the mists to obscure the school as much as possible. Essex couldn't know what he was walking into if this was to work.

However, he heard Essex start to chuckle. It was an unhinged sound, but Essex had always laughed whenever he'd known something game changing. Charles pulled himself fully into the school, wondering what on earth it was that Essex was doing now.

Charles frowned hesitantly, and began moving forward slightly, searching. Essex couldn't have just disappeared into the ether, not when he was inside Charles's mind. That didn't happen.

"Sorry to be rude, but we'll have to continue this conversation at another time."

He whipped his head to the side, and saw Essex grab the door to the school. For a minute, the man was illuminated in the mists, his face momentarily restored. He grinned, and then slammed the door shut, locking Charles inside his own mind.

The door's slam rippled through his mind, and then it went black.

* * *

Erik entered the lab to find Essex sitting in a chair. While he'd never seen the man in person, he'd seen enough pictures to expect something different. Half of his face seemed like it was sliding off his skull while one of his hands was a patchwork of stitches.

"I had hoped Charles would be joining us," Essex said, "But I don't think that's going to happen. Not for a while yet, if ever."

"What the hell did you do?" demanded Erik.

"What the hell did you do?" Essex asked, his hands in his lap, "I mean, did you just have a telepath on call for almost 24-hours with very little rest? I understand pushing someone to their limit better than most people, but anyone else would likely be dead now, with or without Cerebro. I'm frankly surprised he hasn't had an aneurysm. Goodness, even using that machine almost killed Emma, which was unfortunate that didn't work, because, as I learned afterwards, she has rather sticky fingers."

Logan growled, but Erik put a hand out. The words concerning Charles were growing in his gut, a gnawing, thing, but he had to trust that his friend could pull himself out. He was miles away in New York, and Erik couldn't even make a cell phone call to anyone at the school to check on him without leaving himself and others open to attack.

But something about the situation was very off. Essex was sitting very calmly where he was, too calmly for a man who was surrounded by two people who wanted to kill him. He didn't even seem to care that two of his operatives had switched sides. As far as Erik knew, the telepath wasn't a fighter. Despite his words concerning Charles, Erik could see Essex was exhausted too. His rigid posture seemed to be supported almost entirely by the chair he was sitting on.

Yet, he really did seem confident, and Erik knew the difference between confidence and an affectation. Something was going on here, something they didn't know. He tried to catch Logan's eye, anyone, but the "sticky fingers" comment had gotten under Logan's skin. Erik could understand wanting to protect your children, but this could get them all killed.

"How's your hand?" Logan asked, "Kid always brushes her teeth, but I was hopin she hadn't that day. Give ya an infection."

Essex's smile became somewhat thinner.

"It did get infected, thank you very much for asking," he said, "I've actually considered pulling all of her teeth out when I get her back, maybe replace them with something else. I haven't decided yet. Anesthetic doesn't really work on your kind, does it? I won't bother to find out."

The growl started to gain in volume, and Erik tapped into the metal in Logan's bones to hold him in place. Logan's glare turned to him, and he wished, not for the first time, that he had just a taste of Charles's ability to communicate without raising red flags.

Essex calmly leaned back, unfolding his hands. Erik saw a small trigger there, coated in plastic. He smiled softly at them, his finger holding down the button at the top.

"You know, if Charles were still here, he might be able to tell you of a time, more than half a year ago, where I told him if he didn't back off, I'd blow everything to hell," he said, "Now, he managed to disarm all of my triggers, so I had to think of a way around it. One without metal, without electricity, that was just a fun little precaution, but fortuitous. As you've probably already guessed, I just had to give it a try."

His smile widened.

"My hand moves off this button, and the place explodes," he said, "Cut off my hand, it'll stop reading my life signs, and everything goes up. I have a feeling you might have had similar thoughts about this place, but this goes off, everything in a three mile radius goes up. Five in the direction of the armory. That includes anyone else you might have skulking in these corridors."

Erik stared at him, quickly doing calculations in his head. Yes, they had planted explosives from the armory. They'd taken them out though, spread them throughout the factory. If there were other explosives, they'd create a bigger chain reaction than they'd initially hoped for.

In short, Essex's measurements were off. It would be more like a six mile radius, one which Peter, Raven and Kayla would fall into as well if things went wrong.

"What can I say?" asked Essex, "I'm not without contingencies."

* * *

Charles awoke to something that felt like someone shaking his shoulder, a slight tap on the inside of his brain. There was the sound of tears and, as he looked around his office, he couldn't find the source. They were heart-wrenchingly familiar though, and he knew they were coming from somewhere, someone he needed to soothe.

 _Please wake up…I can't get in!_

He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand as he clambered to his feet. Very, very distantly, he heard someone banging on a door. It was a panicked motion, like little fists on metal. A student? Someone having a nightmare? Not Jean, but someone else.

The pounding stopped, replaced by a soft swishing noise. The ground began to shake, and he felt something warm slip down his face.

 _You're bleeding! Please…come on. Not again, please, PLEASE!_

Charles felt something jolt him. The doors around him began opening and shutting randomly. He forced himself to focus. Yes, he'd been knocked out by the mental equivalent of a sledgehammer. He'd been in Cerebro, and then, yes, Essex had locked the door. This had happened before, but Jean had been there, guiding him back.

This wasn't Jean.

 _DAD!_

The entire building shook. Charles ran to the entrance, now knowing just where, and who, the pounding was coming from. He reached the door, heard the desperate pleas on the other side.

"Kevin!" he shouted, "I'm right here!"

The pounding on the door ceased. Charles sighed deeply, grateful and frightened at the same time. Kevin had been dead on his feet outside when he'd last seen him. Whatever terrifying thing he'd felt when Charles had passed out had clearly woken him up. And to see him bleeding just like he had when he searched for Moira…

Which was odd, because the door to Cerebro was always shut. He shook off the thought.

"Dad?" Kevin asked, his voice muffled through the wood, "Dad, I can't, the door's locked! I can't get it open! What's going on?"

Charles leaned his head against the door.

"I was tricked, that's all," he said, "I know this looks frightening, but I'm fine. I swear I'm fine Kevin."

"But…why can't I open the door?"

Charles swallowed. He'd need to be quick, and he'd need to be careful.

"Kevin, I'm not sure I can open the door right now, but I need to," he said, "And together, I think we can do it."

"I'm not strong enough."

"Kevin, we can do this-"

"I'm not strong enough!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, listening as his son wept. God, he was only nine-years-old. He didn't deserve this.

"You are Kevin," he said, "You can do this. I will be with you every step of the way. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes…" Kevin sobbed.

"Good," said Charles, "On three, you pull on the door, I push. Understand?"

"…yes."

He wished his son was more confident, but there was no time. He had no idea what Essex had planned.

"One…"

"Dad…"

"Two…"

"I love you…"

"Three!"


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N:**_ _Until today, it's been return of the disappearing reviews again. However, when I woke up this morning, they were back. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed over the past chapters: I really appreciate it. I'll respond as soon as possible._

* * *

Erik watched as Essex suddenly went rigid, small red veins suddenly appearing in his eyes. He grit his teeth together. He knew the rest of the team were looking around curiously, but he'd seen this several times before.

"Charles," he said, "If you can hear me, what do we need to do?"

 _He's right…God…he's right about the trigger being made all out of plastic,_ Charles managed, _And also no electricity, but…that's because it's fake._

"It's fake?" Erik asked.

All the other team members were looking at him, doubtless wondering who he was talking to, but he could see Logan making gestures to the other two. The feral mutant was also eyeing Essex speculatively. There was a calculation in there Erik didn't like. After today, Charles wasn't allowed to call him reckless any more.

 _Yes, but the threat is real,_ Charles said, _It's wired to explode in eight minutes even if he doesn't take his finger off the trigger. You need to get out of there, and then you need to get my sister, Peter and Kayla out as well. As fast as possible. I'll try to force him to slow the system down electronically-_

"Chris controls electricity," Erik said.

 _Yes, I know,_ said Charles, _But with the passcodes he's put in here…it's rather impossible for anyone. There's also a DNA lock…_

"Charles, we could try to figure out a way to-" Erik said.

 _Listen, Erik, I really have neither the time nor the ability to argue with you,_ he said, _I want this to end as much as you do, but I want all of you to come home more. I'll get to work here, you get to work on your end._

"Charles-"

 _GO!_

Erik gestured to the other four as he turned and headed out of the room. Logan's hand came down like a vice on his shoulder.

"We ain't leavin him here," he said.

"We need to get out of here before we're blown back home," snapped Erik, "You might heal from that, but I know for a fact I won't, and I don't think Kayla will either."

The grip on his shoulder loosened slightly, but he still didn't let go. Irritated, Erik raised his hand and, with the metal running through Logan's entire skeleton, was easily able to jerk his hand off his shoulder.

"Charles is taking care of the freak," he said, "We need to go."

"I don't understand," said Chris.

"I will explain this exactly once: we need to get out of here," Erik said, "The bombs are going off in eight minutes, and we're going to need Quicksilver to get us out of range."

"What?" gaped Chris.

"I can teleport some people far enough out if ya tell me the radius," John offered.

"Given that I don't trust you, you can transfer Chris out," snapped Erik, "You go near anyone else, and I will find you and you will wish Logan had killed you back in the engine room."

John took a step back, but he didn't have the patience to deal with him. He just started heading down the hall, touching his comm link as he ran. He'd figure out if the other two were following him, although he knew Logan would be close behind. It wouldn't be due to any personal loyalty, rather the fact that, at the end of the day, he probably knew Kayla wouldn't leave without him.

"Mystique, where are you?" he asked.

"Near the exit," she said, "Stryker weighs a ton by the way. He went down fairly easy though, which is- shit!"

Gunfire speckled the line.

"Give me a minute," she said, "I can take care of this."

Erik swore and quickly switched the channel. Now that he was listening, he could hear that there were three other pairs of feet running behind him.

"Quicksilver?" he asked.

"Yeah dude?"

"We're going to need a much quicker evacuation than we thought," he said, "How are you holding up?"

"Good- no, look Miss Wolverine, don't look at me like that! I'm fine, I swear I'm fine!"

The words came through loud, probably louder than Peter had intended. Logan drew level with Erik and gave him a look torn between puzzlement and irritation. Good grief, the boy had a gift he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy to piss people off without trying.

"Kayla, is he alright?" he demanded.

There as a brief scuffle and Kayla came on, panting.

"He's badly dehydrated," she said, "Also, he apparently ran down to the base of the mountain to take care of a problem we had, then ran back up and got me to the point I'm at now. That's at least two sudden altitude shifts. He needs rest. Any way around this?"

"None," Erik said grimly, "He can wait another minute, but no longer than that."

"Should he be getting you out of the factory?" asked Kayla, "Because-"

"No," said Erik, "We're going to be making our own exit shortly with Mystique. We need to get at least six miles out, preferably seven. I'd prefer being able to scout that location, but we need to get out much faster than normal."

"Alright, I'll tell him," she said.

He looked over his shoulder at John and Chris. Chris was struggling to keep up, even with John helping him. As he ran, Erik pointed at him.

"I expect to see you at Westchester in five days to help us put together a deposition and fill in any details. We have ways of finding you if you don't show," he said, "Get the hell out of here right now. You're not going to slow Quicksilver down."

Logan looked at his two former comrades as John made sure he had a secure grip on Chris.

"After that, if I see you outside o something official, I'm gonna kill ya," Logan promised.

John sighed, but he and Chris flickered out of sight. Erik switched channels over to where Mystique was swearing.

"Usually I'd give you time to finish up on your own, but we don't really have that luxury right now. What's your position?" he asked.

"Third hallway from the right," she said, "Some overachieving bastards."

"I'll provide back-up," he said, "This place is going up in flames in…"

He checked his watch.

"…six minutes," he said.

"That was part of the plan. Why'd you move the timetable?"

"Essex planted extra explosives and has a countdown," he said, "We're almost on your position."

"When you say almost-"

He turned a corner and immediately saw the backs of ten guards. He couldn't see Raven, but there were limited places she could be. One turned to look at him, but they were all equipped with metal guns. It appeared only those who went on special missions or outside were given plastic. It wasn't as though it could be easy to create the weaponry.

Erik pushed his wrist out, and five went flying to the end of the hall, smashing into the wall. One of them had time to fire their gun. He moved his hand, sending the bullet into the man's leg instead.

One took off running, but the other four, again, tried to fire. Erik didn't understand if they were born suicidal or if it was some sort extra ability that had come to them during their time with Stryker and Essex. Logan was moving forward, but this was too easy to need his services.

He redirected the bullets into arms and legs. The guns then jerked up, hitting them in the chest and sending them flying back toward the wall with the rest of their comrades. The men screamed in pain, but Erik strode past them until he reached the only spot of cover he could find.

Raven peered out, holstering her handgun. She got up, brushing herself off and edging Stryker with her toe.

"He's alive, but I'm not carrying him any further after this," she said.

"No point," said Logan, his claws sliding out.

Erik swore under his breath, then held out his hand. Logan's advance stopped before it truly began. He glared at him, his arms shaking under the tension. The ticking clock chimed in his brain, alongside hundreds of other thoughts.

"Lemme go," Logan said.

"No," said Erik.

"You know how this is gonna go," Logan said, "You know he's gonna get away with it if we just let him go!"

"No, we don't," said Erik.

"You of all people should-"

"Yes, I should and I do," said Erik.

He curled his fingers together, the words difficult. Raven was holding her gun again, looking between the two. He didn't know what she would do if things went south. She'd want to do the right thing for her son, but that didn't mean she'd think that was shooting Logan.

All he knew was she wouldn't shoot him. Probably.

"I hate that I'm arguing with you," Erik said.

He truly, truly did. However, after everything that had happened, he didn't think he had it in him to deal with another night of wondering if he was Magneto anymore. He didn't have it in him to walk outside and tell Peter they'd committed cold-blooded murder. He didn't even have it in him to lie about it to him.

Nor, for that matter, did he have it in him to lie about it to Charles about the situation. A weariness settled onto him, one he thought he'd left behind with his family's bodies: the fear of disappointing others.

"But know this: you kill him in cold blood and you will shatter the faith Charles has in you," he said. "It will take you years, if that, to earn that trust back. And you're gonna want his trust. You'll want…"

He swallowed, his words bitter and pained.

"You'll want his friendship," he said at last.

"And why the hell's that?" snapped Logan.

He closed his eyes, his throat pulling and pinching together. He could still see Charles turning twenty years ago, walking back inside the CIA compound, trusting him to make the right decision. He'd long been on the fence as to whether or not he had. Shaw had died, true enough, but the world had never made sense again.

Erik opened his eyes.

"When we found you, you were on your own, a one-man revenge mission with no purpose other than death," he said, "For whatever reason, you now have a woman who loves you and wants to be with you. You have…you have a daughter now, one who needs the you that doesn't want to be that man. You were alone then, and now you're not. If you do the right thing, you don't have to be alone again. No one in your family does."

It was a lesson he'd learned all too late. He hadn't reached out to Charles to bring Nina to the school, her mother too. He had wanted to live a life completely divorced from his old one, and that, to him, meant cutting out his old friend. He'd paid the price for that.

"People like him have friends," he said, gesturing to Stryker, "Don't you think it's time you got some too?"

Logan continued to stare for a minute. As he did, Erik wondered why he had ever thought Charles was weak. Even when they had first met, he'd had the strength to say what needed to be said and do what needed to be done, even if he'd been unsure of the outcome.

He let go of his grip on Logan's skeleton. Logan relaxed, but his eyes were narrowed. Erik turned slowly, walking toward the outer wall. He took one step, then another, trying not to look behind him. He knew the wall to the outside was right in front of him, the walls ready to be peeled away to give them the exit they wouldn't have the time to make it to.

Just before he ripped way the metal walls, he heard a meaty sound, and a grunt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Logan toss a very alive Stryker onto his back.

There was, perhaps, something to be said about doing things Charles's way.


	31. Chapter 31

Trying to get Essex to disarm the bombs made Charles feel like he was slogging through oatmeal. Essex wasn't making any effort to help him, only vaguely chuckling every now and then as Charles frantically tried to get through the codes.

By the time they hit the two minute mark, he'd only managed to get through one of the layers of security. Time was slipping out of his grasp, and he didn't understand how. Every time he tried to bypass Essex's mind, slip through a loophole, he hit a wall.

He was bleeding again, something he only registered because he thought he heard a small cry from Kevin. There was a soft feeling on his face, and he knew his son was in his lap, trying to dab away the blood on his mouth and chin with his pajama sleeve. Kevin had told him, in those brief moments when he could hear, that the door to Cerebro had shifted for him, let him in to help.

Charles didn't know what he was talking about, but perhaps it was part of his telekinesis. What did matter was that Kevin had refused to leave, and he knew he was just traumatizing him further for being too weak to send him away. It killed him to force his son to watch something like this, to worry, but he needed to keep going.

The blast radius was going to be immense and, even with Peter, Charles wasn't sure what the outcome would be. True, he'd managed to save almost everyone from the explosion at the school. He'd been running on full then though, had just eaten. At the moment Charles knew he was still fighting through blood loss, his body's ability to move so much faster the only thing holding everything together.

He hit another barrier, and Essex started laughing again.

 _You do know you die too if I don't get this working, don't you?_ asked Charles.

The laughter stopped, replaced by a kind of bemusement.

 _Oh Charles,_ he said, _Aren't there things you'd die for?_

Charles took a deep breath, managing to disable another one of the codes. Two more levels of security, and then there was just the DNA lock.

 _Yes,_ he said, _My family. Peace. But they're real. They matter._

 _You think peace is real?_

The tone was mocking now.

 _Yes,_ Charles said, _It's something worth dying for. I don't know what you think is important enough to die for, but it's not here!_

 _My research is the only thing that matters in the grand scheme of things,_ snapped Essex, _Come now, I've read your papers. You understand that humanity isn't meant to be boring sacks of meat for the rest of eternity. It's supposed to be more. Coexist, dominate, what does it matter? In the end, evolution will take over._

 _Or we destroy the future,_ Charles said.

 _You sound very sure of that._

Inside a secure part of his mind, he thought of the him in the future, alone, waiting for death to catch up with him. He'd said in the midst of his pain that he didn't want that suffering. And, yes, he understood suffering now. Charles understood it in a way he never had, its power, its strength, and that a person's suffering could save others. He understood that he could bear that cross, could carry it for those who couldn't.

That didn't mean that he wanted that pain though, not for anyone, but especially not for the child who had pounded on the other side of the door to his mind. He didn't want it for Moira, for the child growing in her. It had taken so long for the two of them to find each other, for a family to be a reality.

Charles had thought, for a long time, that the future meant only his students, the people who would mold the years ahead. He understood now that it meant his family too, blood and otherwise. He needed to protect them from that. Terror would come creeping in, it already had, but he could shield them from so much by fighting a little bit harder.

 _I am very sure of that,_ Charles said, _And I will not lose those I love to it._ _Something you will never understand._

 _You think I don't?_ snapped Essex.

The words were fierce, sending him rocking if Kevin's cry was anything to go by. Charles held steady though, moving around Essex's defenses to bypass another level of security.

 _You all took my future when you took X-23!_ snarled Essex, _Do you know what she represents? She represents the last of twenty-two failures, little experiments that never even opened their eyes! That was years of honing my abilities, years of sculpting preexisting DNA strands, of finding the perfect mutants to make it work-_

 _You created a child and then tortured her for your own ends_! Charles snapped.

 _I tested her! I molded her!_ Essex snapped.

 _Molding her doesn't make her yours!_

 _And DNA makes her Logan's?_

 _LOVE MAKES HER LOGAN'S!_ Charles shouted.

The words shot through his mind, the echoes leaving him reeling. They grouped together and slammed Essex with as much force as he could. Whatever breath he had in his lungs was being squeezed out, but damned if he would let him think this.

 _Love makes her Kayla's!_ he shouted, _They've never even spoken! But you don't understand that, just like so many of you will never, ever understand that. A mother, a father would never do what you did, never hurt her just to see what would happen! They would never punish to make themselves feel power, to make them feel big! We protect-_

 _And you think your friend Erik is some sort of saint because he killed when his child was taken?_ asked Essex, _So hypocritical-_

 _Our children can bring out the best and worst in us,_ Charles said.

Kevin was whimpering near him. He would end this.

 _Just like it's made me more powerful than I've ever known._

He slipped around and bypassed another level. Essex seemed to start, and then Charles shoved him forward, pressing his hand onto the DNA lock. The system opened to him, and Charles forced himself behind Essex's eyes, pushing him to go through to where the bombs were.

And when he reached the countdown, he expected to see three minutes. Instead, there was only forty seconds.

 _Something I forgot to mention..._ Essex murmured, _When I get through the last lock, it speeds up. I did warn your friend: I'm not without contingencies_

* * *

Peter had finished drinking his second bottle of water, still waiting for the go ahead, when his body rocked forward.

 _Peter, get them out of there! Get them out of there NOW!_

He jerked forward, but stumbled to his feet. Kayla looked up, startled. The Professor sounded frantic, and the Professor did not lose his cool. Something was very, very wrong, and that meant he needed to haul it.

 _No problem,_ he said, cracking his knuckles, _I can get them out of the radius in like, a minute, minute fifteen if Logan's had some snacks-_

 _You have thirty-five seconds!_

He nearly choked, but took off.

 _Go Peter! Go before-!_

Peter felt a surge of sick fear deep inside his gut. He needed to be able to reach them, but he would have to take them all out of the area further than he'd done with the students. Six miles out, taking one, maybe two people at a time, was definitely something he could do. But it was something that would take more than thirty-five seconds, because he had to make return trips for all of them.

And there they were, actually further from the agreed upon exit. He could just about see his father and the rest of them stepping out of the building, one foot in front of the other. His throat was dry and panic began to twist with the fear inside him.

He wasn't going to be able to save them all. For the first time, he wasn't going to be able to save them all.

* * *

Charles knew that reaching out to Peter had been a risky move, but he'd needed to tell him. He was the best chance, the only chance, that everyone would be safe. Accordingly, he only got a few lines out before he felt Essex slam back into his mind.

Kevin was frantic now somewhere, and he clawed toward the surface, trying to reach him. Somewhere, whatever his son was seeing was frightening him badly enough to start screaming.

A misty landscape rose around him, Essex striding over.

"Not this time Xavier," Essex said, "This time, you're staying right here with me. I know you've been inside a dying mind before, but have you ever been inside a dying mind in Cerebro?"

A blow came from somewhere, he stumbled, disoriented as he tried to figure out where he was. Mists were swirling even thicker around him, and he saw Essex punch him. He stumbled again, knowing that he could fight this, that he had fought Essex before and won. He'd been triumphant.

But his mind was turning into pudding now, hours of long distance monitoring, using Cerebro in a way Hank had never meant. He'd fought an exhausting telepathic battle, monitored so much, been locked inside his own damn mind, and he knew he was weak. Fighting Essex had always taken all of his concentration, and even on that day they had attacked the school this had never been this difficult.

"You know, I'm about to be blown to bits," Essex mused, "But, here's the thing. Can you imagine that pain, amplified, coming through your lovely machine? My attempts at recreating its mechanics all failed but, if I had to guess, I'd think pain like that might be able to kill you."

There was another punch, and Charles grabbed onto the ground for balance. He heard, rather than saw, Essex come closer. He breathed deeply as Essex knelt down next to him, his voice soft and controlled.

"And, to know that the future of whoever comes after me, picks up my work, is a little brighter? That that someone won't have to contend with you?" Essex asked, "I think that's something I'd die for."

* * *

Peter dropped off his father and Kayla before going back. He had to be strategic about this now, because he only had twenty seconds left. It was selfish, yes, but he'd need to know his dad made it out okay, especially if he kept risking his life like this.

He grabbed Raven and Stryker, because he knew he couldn't take two people if one of them was Logan. It was a sad fact, and not at all humorous, that Logan might die because he was too damn broad, too beefy.

But, as he reached the safety point, he realized that he was probably going to die too if he went back for him. Yeah, he'd been fast before, been able to outrun anything, anyone. But right now there were only eight seconds left. Getting out of the blast radius was not something he could do and, for a split second as he dropped off Raven and Stryker, he considered staying.

Logan was, in Kayla's words, immortal. He might be able to survive a blast like that: the guy had an amazing healing factor on him. Sure, he'd be pissed, but he'd heal. And if he didn't, no one would blame him for staying right where he was. He'd been near death a lot that day, and he had no desire to get any closer than he had to.

He hated himself for those thoughts, swallowing bitterness, because that wasn't right. Peter swallowed and looked at his father. The world was moving too fast for any conversation to happen, but he knew what he needed to say.

"I'm your son," he said.

The words were lost to the slowness around him, to a world that could never catch up. Peter turned around and raced back to the factory. Maybe he could outrun the blast of the explosion, maybe not. He'd never know if he never tried.

* * *

Charles pulled himself up, kicking at Essex as hard as he could. He needed to get out, to leave. He scrambled up, knowing that a retreat was the only safe option. Kevin had been through enough: there was no need for him to watch his father die. Kevin needed something better-

Essex pulled himself up, wiping blood off his chin.

"You're…worried for someone else?" he asked, "Wait a minute, Kevin? That brat? You're worried for MacTaggert's little brat?"

Charles scrambled to his feet. He knew he was running out of time, maybe only eight seconds in real time. Time was slower here.

"Leave my son out of this," he said.

"Oh, he's definitely not yours," said Essex, "I looked into that, especially after I found out the two of you had a past history. But really, all that bullshit about parenthood? Love? You barely know this brat, and now you're claiming him as your son?"

Almost hysterical laughter reached his ears, but it wasn't from Essex.

"I claimed as my dad first, so he didn't have a choice."


	32. Chapter 32

Kevin watched his father look at him with horror, and he ran to him, wrapping his arms around him. He was bleeding now, almost as much as he was bleeding in Cerebro. He had hair now too, but he'd seen him walk, so things were different here.

"Kevin," his father said, his eyes frightened, "What are you doing here?"

He wanted to explain, he really did. The tears pouring hotly down his cheeks were the words he couldn't say, words explaining how he'd seen the blood, seen him jerk and his eyes close. He'd just wanted to tap into his mind, see if he was okay. Jean had done it before, and he knew he was stronger now than he'd been those months ago.

And now, here, in this strange, misty place, with the frighteningly pale man there, Kevin just wanted to beg his father to take them home. He was scared, more than he'd ever been since that night when he'd been the one to throw his mother across the block. That had been the night when he'd seen the man whose blood he carried in himself, however fleeting.

He clutched his pant leg, looking at him, willing him to understand. In the end, he could only speak with the words he'd told the pale man.

"You were my dad before I was your son," said Kevin, "I…I wanted that."

"Touching," the pale man said, "Well, it looks like you're not dying alone Xavier, which is kind of a shame, because I can see some real potential here."

The ground started roiling underneath them. His father grabbed onto him, keeping him in place. Kevin looked around, panicking, wondering what was going on. Something was wrong here, and his head was hurting. Was he bleeding like his father was now?

Kevin looked at the pale man, trying to understand why he was smiling. What was funny about this, about anything he was doing? It was such a familiar expression, and when it was directed at him, he could almost see pointed teeth, like a goblin from a fairy tale.

"Well, not as much as your unborn son, your real son, but, well," the man said.

His smile widened, and Kevin understood.

 _Why are you crying? Are you a little girl? Did I get a daughter instead of a son? Get up!_

This was him, the man who had taken his mother, who wanted his brother. He'd tried to take things from them before, hurt people. Laura had bled because of this man, been separated from her parents. Emma had lost her sister. Kurt had been shot, and so had Peter, and so many things had happened.

This was Essex.

A flicker started deep within him as Essex moved closer. His father shoved him behind him, taking and blocking the first punch. Kevin watched the two, the flicker growing stronger and stronger. His eyes were becoming unfocused, although they seemed so very clear to him.

"Kevin, get out!" his father shouted.

But he couldn't. Once upon a time, he'd hid in his room from his mother, crying from the pain caused by broken ribs. He hadn't wanted her to get hurt, and if he told her what happened, what had been done to him, she'd be hurt. He'd started praying then, praying for the pain to stop, for it to be just him and his mom.

He'd been told it would be wicked to pray for bad things to happen to people, for someone to die. It was the only thing that stopped him from praying for the death of his mother's husband, for a car to run him down and leave him in even more pain than Kevin was in now. He'd hoped for it instead.

It hadn't happened. He'd been too little and weak to help his mom. He hadn't even been seven yet when she got rid of him for good, putting her own life at risk. When his powers came, he wished they'd come years earlier so he would've been able to help her.

But, as he watched his father fight, as something thick and dark built inside, he realized that they had come in time for something different. His mother could've used his help back then. She could use it now, to stop this monster from coming after his brother. His father could use it now too, and he wasn't going to fail his parents again.

Sometimes, people needed to be taught lessons, like the man in the hospital could've, should've been taught. But this wasn't about manners or rudeness. This was about something more.

"GET AWAY!" Kevin screamed.

Essex went flying. He slammed into the ground, looking at Kevin with dark, unblinking eyes. Even his father was looking at Kevin now. Exhaustion was written over his face, as was the blood and pain. No. No more. His father deserved more than this. Kevin deserved more. He was going to get a happy ending, a brother, mother, father, and no one was going to take it from him.

Especially not someone who's eyes reminded him of the man who'd kicked his ribs in.

"Well," Essex said, wiping blood from his lip, "That was unexpected-"

Kevin screamed, and black sand burst from the ground. He thought of the box that had dissolved on the table that night, of the figures in the library all those nights ago. It poured around him, warbling and shaking with his scream before it slammed into Essex, pushing him down.

It continued to pour, to swirl and flow around him. He screamed until he was hoarse, his throat and heart lost in the sound and the dry tears that scorched his cheeks. How had any of this happened? They had been happy. They could be happy again.

A hand pushed through the black sand, shoving him to the ground. He hit his head hard, and looked up into Essex's frighteningly dark eyes. He was snarling now, as terrifying as that night on the ground, fighting the urge to cry for his mother.

"You little piece of-!" Essex snarled.

His father's fist slammed into Essex's face, throwing him back. His father grabbed him by the collar, hosting him into the air.

"I told you: they're not yours to take!" Charles shouted, "You don't get to touch them!"

The second blow shoved him far away. Kevin felt arms lift him up and, for a minute he glimpsed his father's worried eyes. He managed a small smile, and his father grasped him tightly, running as the black sand continued to fly around them.

"Where…where are we going?" he managed.

"Home. I'm taking you home!"

From somewhere, he heard a scream of range. From somewhere, he could feel tendrils of pain begin to tap his mind. An earth-shattering sound was on the brink of breaking loose, of enveloping him and dragging him down with it.

But when he opened his eyes, he was in his father's lap, his sleeve still stained with the blood he'd been trying to dab away. More blood was tinging his lips, salty, like his tears. And when his father looked at him, his blue eyes weren't worried. Instead, they were relieved as he clutched him close.

And, in his mind's eye, still connected to his father's, to the strange machine that hummed around him, he saw a running figure.

* * *

Peter spotted Logan, the way his head was cocked and a frown puckered his forehead. He was a feral mutant: maybe he smelt something? It was about as likely as anything he'd come across that day, and if Logan was fast, maybe it could've helped.

As it was, he was stuck pushing the man with the metal skeleton. Peter felt like his arms were made out of water and jelly. Maybe he'd take a page out of Scott's book and pump iron a little bit more when he got back to the school.

He wanted to say that out loud, just in case someone would laugh. However, he knew no one was going to even hear. No one was going to say one thing or the other, and not just because he was going to talk too fast for them to hear.

Peter shoved Logan forward, running as fast as he could. Part of him wanted to check his watch and see how many seconds he had left, but all he had to do was look over his shoulder to see what was happening. The foundations had already begun to crack and roil underneath the strength of the explosives. Fire was starting to swirl from the foundations toward them.

He looked over at Logan, his facial expression still not changing. Peter's whole throat felt dry as he continued to run. The heat was starting to become tangible as it grew, and that meant it was very close indeed.

"I'm sorry," he managed, "I'm sorry I couldn't bring you back to Kayla, sorry I couldn't bring you to Laura. And I'm sorry to them too, because, you're kind of an asshole, but I think they really loved you. Like, tons."

He swallowed, because that wasn't the end. There were so many other people he wanted to apologize to. He wanted to apologize to the Professor for not finishing his degree. He wanted to apologize to Kurt, because Team Lightning most definitely was not going to be a thing now. Kevin needed a sorry since, well, he wasn't going to be there to toss him next time he got upset or crack a joke. His mother needed an apology too, because, despite it all, she'd always tried her best, and he'd never been easy to deal with.

Peter also wanted to apologize to his dad though, tell him he was sorry he was never going to be his son. He'd told the Professor he never wanted him to know if he died before he could tell him, and he still wanted that. His father wasn't in a place where he could lose another child so soon, especially when he'd never gotten to know them first.

But that had been his fault. He'd been the one who couldn't make the words work, the one whose tongue had been made of lead. Maybe, if their positions had been reversed, maybe his father would've claimed him by now. Maybe they would've been closer. His father would be trying to be a parent to a boy who was, in theory at least, old enough to be a parent himself, and he would try to be a son.

The heat was getting hotter, the rubber in his shoes starting to melt. Peter took a deep breath and pushed on. His sight was blurring, but he managed to grin. If he was going to die, he would die doing what he always did: grin, and run like he was on fire.

The irony that, this time, he actually would be, made his smile a little more genuine.

* * *

"Dad?" Kevin murmured, "We need to…"

He closed his eyes, pushing his mind in further.

"Kevin, what are you doing?"

"Dad, look for Peter," he said.

His father seemed to become more panicked, and Kevin pressed into his mind. It was surprisingly easy to do, and he became worried. His father's mind was always like a fortress. They needed to rest, to sleep, to something. He wanted that rest.

But then he saw Peter, Laura's father, the flames and debris. They were gaining on him, and Kevin wanted to cry, because while those flames were consuming Essex, they were going to consume Peter and Laura's father soon too. It already felt like his father was pulling him away, trying to shield him from what was coming. What could they do after all? Going into someone's mind wasn't going to help.

The flames were getting closer and closer. His fingers fisted in his father's shirt, his heart weeping any tears he still had left. He wanted to reach out, push Peter and Laura's father out of the way. Kevin's hand raised vaguely toward the image, because they shouldn't feel alone, shouldn't feel forgotten. He wanted to cover them, hold them like his father was holding him.

A curtain of black sand rose from the ground, washing over Peter and Laura's father along with the flames and concrete.


	33. Chapter 33

Peter coughed, a hacking, deep thing from his lungs. Something light and dusty settled around his face when he did. He opened his eyes and stared at darkness, no better than if he'd just kept them closed.

And then he started laughing because, dammit, he wasn't dead! His ribs and back screamed when he did, but that made him laugh even harder, because he still had ribs and legs. He may not have feet when he was able to investigate, but right now he still had a torso. That was great!

"The hell are you laughing at chuckle monkey?"

"Logan!" Peter laughed, "Oh my God, you're alive too! Where are you, by the way? Can't see a thing."

He paused for a minute, digesting those words.

"By the way, know where we are?" he asked.

"Not a damn clue," Logan said.

There was a shuffling and he could just make out a mass next to him. Thoughtful, Peter reached out and flicked its side. Something strong and painful grabbed his wrist.

"Ow!" Peter said, "I just wanted to see where you were!"

Logan growled, but let go of his wrist. Peter held it to his chest, rubbing his fingers back to life.

"So…still no clue where we are?" asked Peter.

"Wherever we are, it's got a low ceiling," Logan grunted.

Peter reached out, and his fingertips brushed something soft and earthy. Dust fell onto his face, and he coughed again.

"Feeling like we're underground," he said.

"It's deeper than a foot," Logan said, "Not sure how much deeper."

"How do you know that?"

"I stabbed it. Do ya see any light?"

"No. No I do not."

He rolled his shoulders, looking thoughtfully at the blackness. It was getting easier and easier to see and, as it did, he tried harder to remember what had happened. He'd been running with Logan, his shoes melting, and then he'd been pushed. He thought the force of the explosion was catching up, but he wasn't sure anymore.

"Think we should break through this?" asked Peter.

"Don't know what's on the other side," Logan said, "I've got no damn clue how long it's been since the explosion. Could still have fire or some shit above us."

 _Actually…it's quite…it's quite safe._

The Professor's voice made Peter smile.

"Hey-o!" he said, "It looks like we're not dead!"

 _I'm really glad._

The voice, soft and tired, bu joyful, made Peter pause.

"Um, do we have a lack of oxygen in here?" he asked, "Coz I could've sworn I heard Kevin."

 _Oxygen…will be…a concern,_ the Professor said, _But yes, he's here._

 _I shouldn't talk too much,_ Kevin said, _My dad said the link is kind of weird, so I'm making it harder for him to talk since I'm kind of in his mind. But I'm really glad you're alive._

"Me too little dude!" Peter crowed.

There was a soft laugh, and then Kevin's voice faded out.

 _I've surveyed the area_ , the Professor said, _So…you can…you can punch out of it. There'll be glass on the last layer…heat, some reaction._

"Not a problem," Logan said.

 _Tell Erik…tell him that…tell him that Essex was still inside when the explosion happened_ , he said.

"Bodacious!"

"Of all the people ta get trapped with…"

 _It's time for you all to come home._

Peter grinned. Home. That was great news. Laura would have a great time with her new mom, and he would have a great time with a box of twinkies. For blood replenishment. He'd been reading about that, and he'd need the snacks. Maybe he could make Scott get some for him.

One thing was still a little weird though.

"By the way Prof," he said, "Not that I'm not really excited, but, um, how are we alive?"

There was a pause.

 _It's…complicated_ , the Professor settled on, _I'll explain when you get home. Just know that everything is fine, and you need to get back…back before…Erik starts to worry._

"Okay, okay," Peter laughed.

 _And…Peter?_

"Yah?"

 _You did very well today._

The voice left his mind, and Peter beamed. He was still beaming when Logan punched through the roof and a faceful of dirt and sand poured onto his face.

"Dude!"

Logan grunted, and Peter heard glass shatter. He moved away as Logan pushed over one of the walls, sending dirt flying everywhere. The glass, however, was left on the ground, scattered. Light flooded in, and Peter had to shut his eyes tightly: too much, too fast.

Slowly, he reopened his eyes, centimeter by centimeter. Logan stood up, brushing himself off. Now that he had his sight back, Peter could see that he was covered in the black sand and something else that looked like soot.

"Nasty," Peter said, "But I'm guessing I'm looking more like Quickcharcoal right now, huh?"

"Whatever kid."

"Do not call me kid," Peter said, getting to his feet.

"Why's that?"

He shook his jacket out, and gave an unpleasant grin.

"Coz I'm only one year younger than Kayla," he said, "So it's totally gross if you think I'm a kid."

Logan made a face, and Peter laughed.

"Come on, let's go see her so she can hear my joke," he said.

The face Logan made was rather more irritated now, but he wasn't going to ruin anything for him. All around him there were chunks of concrete and fire, a thin layer of ash over everything. The air smelt like burnt wood and concrete, and something greasier. It was probably something uber scientific, organic, and disgusting.

But he didn't freak out, didn't try to cover his nose. Instead, he punched the air triumphantly. They were alive. He'd never been so relieved to not be dead, even when Nur was doing his great big evil monster thing. He'd felt death licking at his heels, but he was still breathing.

More than that, he'd had some clarity in those minutes. He knew what he would die regretting. He needed to get on that, because if he died soon, and he hadn't already taken care of that, he'd be pissed. There were a lot of elements to everything, but he figured he'd take care of some of the scariest aspects first.

After all, he'd almost died. He was feeling a little scare-proof. He pulled his goggles down, double checking to make sure they were in place before he grabbed Logan to join the others.

* * *

Charles shoved off his helmet, placing it on the control panel as Cerebro powered down. Kevin was curled up in his lap. His eyes were open, but just barely. He wasn't surprised. Using Cerebro wasn't a picnic for the uninitiated and, even if he had been piggy-backing Charles's mind, it couldn't have been pleasant.

He pushed away from the machine, his arms weak. Dried blood covered his face. To his dismay, he realized that Kevin had dried blood on his face too. There was some blood on his sleeve, and Charles sighed when he realized that his son had tried to stem his bloody nose.

He went into Hank's lab where, to his relief, he found some of the back up medical supplies and running water. There wasn't much they could do for what had happened, not unless a wet cloth and aspirin counted, but it was better than nothing.

Charles spied a bed in the corner. It had been a cot the last time he'd looked at it, and he wondered where Hank had found the time to move a whole bed into the lab. However, it was fortunate it was there. Kevin was clearly not going to make it upstairs and, judging by the way his hands were shaking as he cleaned his son's face, neither was he.

Hank had a few school shirts for them, which was good, since his was covered in blood. Kevin's was splotched with it and, while he couldn't make everything perfect, he could at least ensure his son wasn't sleeping in his own blood.

He pulled on one of the shirts, and so did Kevin. He'd managed to tuck Kevin in and pull himself into the bed. It was rather amazing because he was close to passing out. It was soft when he laid down, especially considering Hank's forgetfulness when it came to taking care of himself. At least he was sleeping on a good mattress.

However, no matter how tired he was, he couldn't sleep. Kevin hadn't said a word since they'd discovered Peter was alive, just looked at him with heavy eyes. Charles was more than a little worried about that. What his son had done that night was nothing short of amazing. He'd actually used Cerebro to reach out to manipulate the world.

Logically it made sense if his powers were, indeed, based in his mind. All Cerebro did was amplify brainwaves. Hank had said it was waiting for a telepath, but they hadn't researched other applications. Kevin's telekinesis was, technically, based in his mind. What he'd seen that night wasn't telekinesis, but it could be similar.

That wasn't what was worrying him though. What was worrying him was that he'd seen that power before. He'd seen those gritty elements swirling to make something out of nothing. That kind of manipulation was still something that, on occasion, showed up in his nightmares.

No, Kevin hadn't been using it in the same way Nur had. However, it was the same mechanics, perhaps on a smaller scale. Thanks to that, he knew exactly how strong his son could be, the temptations that would be available to him as he grew. The temptations were already available if he was honest, already reaching for him.

"Dad?"

His son's voice was quiet, thoughtful, and a little scared. Charles turned to him, trying to be as cheerful as possible. He felt ready to collapse at any moment.

"That man, back there," Kevin said, "I mean, at that misty place. Did I…did I kill him?"

The question threw Charles. He blinked at him for a minute, then shook his head.

"No," he said, "The explosion did that."

"He was trying to kill you. Us."

Charles was too tired to lie and, honestly, he had a feeling Kevin was simply looking for a confirmation. His son had seen too much of the world's darker aspects to doubt Essex's goal. So he nodded, waiting.

"I could've killed him," Kevin said after a minute, "I think I had, have, the power."

He looked at his son for another minute, feeling himself inch over an abyss.

"Did you want to?"

Kevin hesitated, then shook his head.

"No," he said, "I wanted him to stop hurting you as much as I could. I just…wanted him away. Teach him you can't do that to people. I didn't want…I didn't want to see him in me."

Something about the way he said "him" made Charles realize he wasn't talking about Essex. Kevin was talking about a man who had stolen a little corner of his childhood. He was talking about the man who, to him, was almost a non-person.

This one part of him though, remained very prominently in his mind. Charles reached out, cupping his son's face with his hands. Kevin's eyes looked into his, pleading and big. He needed to know that what he had wanted to do, the person he'd wanted to be that night, had been achieved.

All at once, Charles felt his fears vanish.

"Kevin, listen to me closely. What you did tonight was incredible," he said, "You have a great gift Kevin, one we need to look at a little more closely so you can safely work with it, just like you work with your telepathy and telekinesis. I've seen people…take a gift like that to the extreme. But…"

He smiled.

"I see you, and I know that's not you," he said, "Because you don't want to be the one that causes fear in people's lives. You want to be something more, someone who protects others."

"I wanna be like my parents," Kevin whispered.

Charles felt tears slip down his cheeks. He leaned over and kissed Kevin's forehead.

"You already are," he said, "And I have never been prouder of you."


	34. Chapter 34

The explosion had come much sooner than Erik had expected. When it did rip through the air, he'd been thrown to his ground. He'd expected the searing touch of fire, of crushing concrete, but all he'd felt was soft earth.

He looked up and found himself in a clearing. Raven was a few feet away, trying to make sure Stryker was still secured. Kayla had sat up, her eyes dazed but searching. She'd been in the sniper position to give them cover. She hadn't been anywhere near them.

Erik stumbled to his feet, looking around. In the distance, he could see a plume of smoke. Something scorched and greasy was in the air, unpleasant and all-too familiar. He coughed once, and then looked back at the small group, a group he was only now realizing was divisible by two.

Two people per trip. Peter had told him once that was his maximum. He only had so many arms, he'd said, and he needed to make sure no one had whiplash if he moved too fast. Only, because of Stryker, their group hadn't been divisible by two. Their group would've required three trips.

The realization appeared to be dawning on Kayla too. She stumbled to her feet, all but kicking away the gun. Her eyes were wide and troubled. No doubt she was calculating whether or not Logan could survive an explosion, if his healing factor would restore flesh destroyed by fire or limbs scattered to the four winds.

But there was a chance it could, and Logan was very far from Erik's mind. Peter, while he healed fast, did not heal that fast. The very fact that he wasn't there showed that the little idiot had gone back for a third trip.

"Peter!" Erik shouted.

He turned back, more anger than actual worry building up. Worry was not helpful, could not be helpful at the moment. What was the little brat thinking? That he was going to be a hero by getting himself blown up by someone who might have been able to heal? Was he that stupid?

As he took a step toward the factory, he felt another gnawing thought inside. Peter wasn't an idiot. He'd play the fool for laughs, but he'd seen the bright intellect behind his dark eyes, waiting.

No. Peter hadn't been stupid when he'd gone back for Logan. He'd done the same calculations Kayla had and decided they weren't good enough to leave Laura fatherless. He'd decided to take a risk, because that's who he was. He was reckless, but he always had a reason for something as dangerous as this. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn't afraid to go after it, even if it might cost his life.

Now, for the first time in a long time, something pure like fear grew-

The wind blew past him, stirring his hair and clothes. Erik's head whipped around and Peter was standing there, half-supported by Logan. The two let go, Peter yanking his goggles down around his soot-stained neck. Kayla rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her lover's neck.

"Aw, cinematic ending!" Peter shouted.

The anger returned.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Erik demanded.

The grin started to slip from Peter's face.

"Um…you might hafta be more specific," he said.

"If you only had time for two trips, getting yourself killed while trying to save someone else is not productive!" he snapped, "It's stupid!"

"Hey," Peter said, raising his hands defensively, "We're both alive, okay? It worked out."

"Look," said Logan, his arms resting around Kayla's waist, "Not that I ain't grateful, but I was at Nagasaki."

Peter gave him a look for a minute, his face confused.

"Second nuclear bomb!" he shouted, clapping his hands together, "I read about that in history class. So...wait...you survived...oh."

There was a long pause, and then Peter threw his hands into the air.

"Yeah, thanks for sharing with the class!" he snapped.

"Kid, didn't know it was gonna come up," Logan said.

"Stop calling me kid!"

"You really should've said something," muttered Kayla, "That is never not going to be useful information."

"Great," Peter said, running his filthy hand through his filthier hair, "Great. Sunshine, damned peachy…"

He took a deep breath through his nostrils, then choked.

"Oh boy, that smells foul, whatever that is," he said, "What were they cooking in that place?"

Erik had the sudden, violent urge to tell Peter that it was human fat that was burning now, the people who hadn't been able to get out of the radius in time. Something else tamped it down though, swallowed by the stronger urge to grab Peter by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

His intent must have shown, because Peter was suddenly putting his hands up was even backing away.

"Look," he said, "Yeah…okay. So I didn't need to go. I get that now. But like…I mean…that's now. I didn't know how good his healing factor was then. I didn't know if he was gonna survive or not and I…I mean, I couldn't take that risk. Ya know? I couldn't."

Erik clenched his hands into fists and looked away. He wanted to continue shouting at him, but, again, Peter hadn't done the stupid thing. He'd done the noble thing, something someone like Charles might do if he had the option. That was the kind of person he was, and Erik doubted that almost dying was going to stop him.

It was something Erik wanted to be proud of, but Peter had to know how dangerous all that had been. He didn't want the boy to end up dead somewhere, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't. He'd just have to train him to be stronger, to make sure he could take whatever came after him when this happened the next time.

He turned to tell him that he wasn't angry, that refusing to leave a teammate behind was noble, but he stopped. Peter's eyes were pleading, hopeful. Something about those eyes struck him, a look that he hadn't seen in his eyes in a very, very long time. If he'd ever had that expression, he'd been far too young to realize how precious the innocence and hope it belied were.

But, not that long ago, Nina had looked at him with that expression in her eyes. It had been when she'd first started talking to animals, asking him if something was wrong with her. His wife had always told him she had his eyes, although he hadn't believed her. They were, perhaps, similar in size or shape, but they were a different color.

"Hey, um, yeah?" asked Peter.

Erik blinked, but the resemblance was still there. One of his hands drew blood from his palm.

"I'm not happy you almost got yourself killed," he said finally, "But…you did right trying to make sure the entire team was safe."

Peter's eyes lit up, basking in the acknowledgement that he'd done something good. It was the encouragement he'd likely never received as a child from a man who couldn't accept that different wasn't bad. Erik wanted to cry, Logan, Raven, Kayla be damned. Nina's eyes had done that too when he'd taken her in his arms and told her, no, nothing was wrong with her.

She was just special, because she was his daughter. Just like Peter was his son.

* * *

Hank woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He yawned before fumbling for it. His sleep pattern was fairly irregular these days, but this was a special kind of exception. He'd woken up at 10 a.m., late by his standards, but he'd been up until 3 a.m. talking to Carly about some of the finer points of Arthur Miller. He'd long suspected the two could talk for hours: now he knew they could.

He'd tried to wake up at his usual hour, get dressed and get some work done. The result was he'd woken up ready for the day and then fallen asleep in the afternoon, his face on his desk and a trail of drool dripping onto the table. It felt like such a waste: he'd even put on aftershave.

His neck hurt terribly, but he still managed to get the phone up to his ear in time to answer it.

"Hank McCoy," he yawned.

"I wanted to let you know that the away team is coming back from Japan," Charles said.

"Really?" asked Hank, perking up, "That's great. Did they…were…I mean-"

"Yes," said Charles, "On all counts. They'll have to make a stop by D.C. before coming home. Levine has agreed to oversee some of the finer points of delivering the information Raven collected on Stryker, as well as the man himself."

His friend's voice held its usual calm as it spoke, but there was something underneath it all that made Hank pause. Charles sounded exhausted, but not the kind of exhausted he was. This was the kind of exhausted you got when even your fingernails were tired.

He'd only gotten into that range once or twice. Hank could only imagine what Charles had been doing on Cerebro to stretch himself to that point.

"Oh really?" asked Hank, "So…everything went smoothly?"

"More or less," Charles said, "They'll be coming here soon. I told Emma and Laura that Kayla was coming home in the next day or so."

Hank rubbed the back of his neck.

"How'd that go?" he asked.

Charles chuckled.

"I've never been tackled by someone that small before," he said, "Emma actually had to help me back up."

"Laura's a strong one," Hank chuckled.

The pain in his neck got stronger, and he shifted the phone from one side to the other.

"Now that it's over, are you going to be visiting soon?" he asked, "Because Moira really wants to see you."

"And I really want to see her," Charles said, his voice wistful, "But…the thing is…well…if she sees me right now, she'll worry."

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What did you do to yourself?" he asked.

"I believe I overextended it a little bit," confessed Charles, "Not something I want to repeat. I feel as though my head is a goldfish bowl, and the fish are all swimming inside."

"Poetic," Hank said, "But do you have any symptoms other than exhaustion."

"No, no, it's nothing like that," said Charles, "I just…I do not look so good. And I'm still getting nose bleeds every now and then."

"That's a symptom Charles!" Hank snapped.

"Hank, I've done this before," said Charles, "I just need a lie down, which I will do now that I'm done with all of this. First thing tomorrow, I'll come to the hospital. I just need to rest, and make sure Kevin gets his rest too."

Hank could almost feel the fur growing on his fingers. It had been a while since the last does of his serum, and he knew he'd need another injection within the hour so he didn't seriously start to worry the hospital staff. The feeling rising inside him, however, wasn't just caused by the approach of his threshold.

"What happened to Kevin?" he asked.

"Nothing!" Charles said, aghast, "You think I'd be so calm if something happened to Kevin?"

He immediately felt guilty, because, thinking back, that was how it had sounded.

"Okay, okay, not fair on my part," said Hank, "It's just, you mentioned him so close to you being unwell, I'm sorry."

"He's fine," Charles said, "But…I discovered the hard way two telepaths can look into Cerebro at the same time."

"Wait, what?" asked Hank, "That's not how it was designed."

"I know," Charles said, "But he felt me pass out, reached into my mind. It woke me up but, well. It's something we need to look into."

"Yeah, sure thing," said Hank, "Now get some rest."

"Trust me, I'm in my room right now. Straight to bed after this," Charles said, his voice light, "And you should get some rest too. You sound completely exhausted."

"Not as much as you. Trust me on that."

"I'll have to," said Charles, "I'll talk to you soon Hank."

"Same here."

He hung up and stretched, cracking his neck once or twice. Tucking his phone into one of his larger pockets he got up and headed out. He'd need to do his afternoon check on Moira, although he figured the doctors had already done their afternoon check-up. After that he might be able to find Carly, and maybe he could carry his point about _The Crucible_.

To his surprise, he saw Carly moving quickly down the hall, her cane tapping on the floor. She stopped a few feet away, turning to him. It slightly unnerved him how good she was at that, knowing where he was.

"Hank? Thank God, we've been looking for you," she said, "Usually one of the doctors would get you, but I told them I knew where your room was-"

"Hey, hey," said Hank, "Slow down. Why were they trying to find me?"

Carly swallowed.

"They just finished talking," she said, "They want to do the cesarean in the next 24 hours, and they wanted to let the father know as soon as possible, but we don't think he's in his office because he's not picking up, and I think his cell phone was broken or busy or something. She wants him here."

Hank gaped.

"Moira has so many forms to fill and...I thought you might know if he had a different number," Carly said.


	35. Chapter 35

Charles had barely laid his head down on the pillow when the phone started ringing. His entire body was heavy, calling him to a place where phone calls didn't matter. He wanted to go to sleep, but that wasn't an option. He longed for the days when a phone call was something that, if he wanted to, he could just sit back and ignore. There weren't any days like that anymore.

So he forced himself to sit up, rubbing a face that already seemed like it was melting from his bones. Charles picked up his cell phone, sighing as he rested it next to his head. His eyelids were already drooping down, and Charles found a small part of himself regretting not postponing telling Emma and Laura about the team's successful mission to catch an hour of sleep. It had seemed too cruel though.

"Charles Xavier," he yawned.

"You need to get to the hospital like an hour ago," said Hank, "Come on. You have to get here now!"

"What's wrong?" Charles asked, fully awake for the first time in hours, "Hank, is Moira-?"

"She's fine, but the doctors decided she's reached the point where it's safe to do a caesarean, that's what you do for pre-eclampsia," said Hank, "They wanna do it soon, but she's asking for you, and she started talking about Kevin when she realized how serious they were about doing it sooner rather than later. I think she thought she might have a full twenty-four hours, but when they talk like this, you know, they're going to push the earlier option. It's standard-"

Charles put the phone down on his dresser and hauled himself into his wheelchair. His arms felt weak, his body crying that it hadn't gotten the rest it had been promised. However, he wasn't allowed to start taking the easy way out right now.

As he grabbed a bathrobe, shrugging the sleeves onto his shoulder, he reached out down the hall.

 _Kevin?_ he called.

His son's mind sleepily stirred.

 _Dad?_ he asked, _Can I have ten more minutes?_

 _I wish,_ Charles chuckled, his throat dry _, But your mother's having the baby right now._

Kevin's mind sparked into life.

 _And I can come?_ he asked, _I wanna be there._

 _Of course you can_ , Charles said _, At least, you can be in the hallway when it happens. She'll want to see you, and I know that your little brother will too._

 _Awesome!_ Kevin cried, _Meet you downstairs in ten minutes!_

 _Twenty,_ chided Charles, _And we'll get moving right after that._

 _Sure thing! See you downstairs!_

Charles smiled, grabbing the phone and hurrying to dress. Once he'd pulled on a sweater, he put the phone back up to his ear.

"-not that I'm a gynecologist, but I know hospital routine-"

"Hank," he said, "Kevin and I are on our way. I want you to let Moira know that. We'll be there before the caesarean, I can promise you that."

"Good," said Hank, "Good. You know the fastest way, right?"

"Yes, of course," said Charles, "I can call a taxi…no, that's not fast enough. I'm not-"

"And Peter won't be there for an hour, will he?"

"Unfortunately no," Charles said.

He picked up a comb before realizing, no, he didn't need that anymore. He tossed it away and brushed his teeth, trying to scrub away any lingering traces of bad breath. However, as he put the toothbrush back, he realized Peter wasn't the only one who could get people somewhere fast.

"I'll be there soon," Charles said, "I'll call you when I get there. Bye Hank.

He hung up before Hank could answer, his fingers already going to his temples."

 _Kurt?_ he asked.

 _Oh, hallo!_ Kurt said, surprised, _Ist somezing wrong?_

 _No, nothing's wrong_ , Charles said _, But my wife is having the baby._

 _Oh!_

The emotion that thrummed through the connection seemed much more surprised than Kevin's had. His primary emotion had been excitement and joy, although that was also threaded through Kurt's reaction.

 _Vell, congratulations!_

 _Yes, thank you,_ Charles said, _But Kevin and I need to get to the hospital as soon as possible-_

 _Oh ja! Of course_ , said Kurt, _Now or-_

 _If you could meet Kevin and I down in the lobby in the next fifteen minutes, I would greatly appreciate it,_ he said.

 _Ja, of course,_ Kurt said, _Calculus can vait._

Charles withdrew, suddenly wondering if Kurt was supposed to be going to class soon. He guiltily pushed it away. He was going to need to focus on his wife, what she was going through, and he'd see if he could work things out with Kurt's teachers if there was an issue later.

He finished getting dressed and hurried toward the elevator. His hands were shaking so badly that he nearly missed the buttons. Did every man whose wife was about to have a child go through this? He rather suspected that the answer was yes, but, honestly, all he wanted to do was get there as safely and quickly as possible.

He also wanted to get there awake, something that night not happen. His eyes were blurring every time he rested, his body trying to finally get some rest. Charles picked at his fingernails, burying them in the flesh of his fingers, in a desperate attempt to stay awake.

Kevin was already waiting there, hopping from one foot to another. His face broke into a grin when he saw Charles, but he could see that the boy was still very nervous. It wasn't every day you became a brother, especially not to a little soul who had been telling you they loved you for weeks.

"Are we driving?" asked Kevin, "If we drive, how fast can we get there? It won't be over by the time we get there if we drive, will it? Not that it really matters I guess, because, you know, there's still a baby but-"

"Kevin, we're not going to take a car," Charles said, amazed he wasn't babbling as well, "Your cousin is going to take us. I thought it was the fastest way."

Kevin nodded, his face earnest. Black smoke flared up next to him, and Kevin immediately launched himself at Kurt, who stumbled. Kurt flashed his fangs into a grin.

"So, you are eager, ja?"

"Ja!" Kevin said.

Charles smiled and nodded. The two disappeared, and he slumped back. Sleep was on his periphery, but it was a side thought. This was happening. All those months of worrying, of trying to do right by her and the child growing inside her, of trying to protect them. Now, on the day they defeated their enemy, they were going to welcome their baby into the world.

There was a bang, and Kurt grabbed onto the sides of Charles's wheelchair.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Charles replied, "More than I ever thought possible."

* * *

It had been difficult to get Peter to go to bed. Kayla had told him that Erik and Raven were taking care of Stryker, that everything was going to be fine. They were in Levine's house in Virginia a place that, while it lacked nutritious food, was certainly safe. He wasn't needed. He could get some rest, some proper rest, and try to recover some of his blood.

Peter had been stubborn, but when he'd seen that, yes, she was right, he'd reluctantly accepted the sleeping aides. She'd stayed nearby to ensure that Peter would take them, that he would actually go to bed. She'd done the same thing with the bottles of water he'd consumed on the plane.

She sank down into a nearby chair when she realized that, yes, he was asleep. For her part, she'd rested on the plane ride over. Logan, she'd remembered, had never liked flying, but he'd seemed fine as long as their armrest was up, their seatbelts looped together so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

There were, of course, a few things that she'd need to take care of soon. Once Peter had gotten a solid three or four hours, maybe eaten a sandwich or two, they could head to New York. She could see her sister, meet her daughter. Kayla would have to be ready for that.

The door opened and Erik walked in. He seemed surprised to see her, but merely inclined his head. She nodded, to him, rolling her shoulder.

"He's been asleep for maybe fifteen minutes," she said, "The sleep aides'll wear off eventually. He's hard to calm down."

"It's not surprising," Erik said, "Other than that though…no extra injuries? No after effects of blood loss?"

"No immediate ones," said Kayla, "I think his healing factor's finally catching up."

Erik sat down opposite her, and she looked at him. His eyes were still on Peter when he spoke.

"Stryker will be going before a military tribunal in a few days," he said, "He'll be tried for war crimes."

"War crimes?"

He nodded.

"Levine's discovered that Stryker's brothers in arms have been onto him for longer than his friends on the hill. They're also more willing to do something about him, and they're angrier," he said, "They never had any evidence of what he was doing, but now, well. With Raven's download they have proof he had mutant soldiers illegally pulled off the battlefield in Vietnam to be experimented on and, eventually, killed. There's also a matter of another officer who wanted him shut down who disappeared a few years ago."

Erik shrugged.

"They'll push for treason," he said, "At minimum, he'll have life, but I think they want him dead."

Kayla breathed out.

"Does Logan know?" she asked.

"As of bumping into him in the hall, yes," said Erik, "He had some choice words for that, but nothing surprising."

Kayla nodded, knowing the words weren't for himself. While Logan hated Stryker, it had less to do with the experimentation that had been done to him and more about what had been taken. It had to do with her, with the part he'd played in Laura's experimentation. Logan was vengeful, but never more than when it came to those he cared about.

"Alright," she said.

"Alright?" asked Erik, "The military tribunal will only cover his war crimes. If they'd gone into his crimes against civilians, such as yourself, they'd have to risk interference by a greater number of his allies. He won't be punished for what he did to you."

"He'll be locked up for good," she said, "I'll never see him again. Laura and Logan won't either. It's enough."

Erik shook his head.

"It's hard to believe you're Emma's daughter sometimes," he said.

Kayla narrowed her eyes.

"No matter what you think of my mother, no matter what she did, she put her family first," said Kayla, "She moved forward, got on with her life. That's what I'm trying to do."

For the first time since coming into the room, his eyes left Peter's sleeping form.

"She never mentioned children," he said.

The tone was less hostile, and Kayla found herself relaxing but remaining wary.

"She didn't know until I was older," she said, "Her parents…my father wasn't the man they wanted for her. She got pregnant, they shipped her out of town to give birth. During the birth, they drugged her, said there was a miscarriage. She wanted to keep me, you see? They gave me to my father, who thought she'd given me up. The years go by, she has my sister. Finds out, finds us."

"It sounds like you didn't have much contact with her growing up," he said, "You wouldn't have been very old when she died."

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"Contact's important, but I had her love, unconditional and endless," Kayla said.

A lump grew in her throat as she thought of her beautiful, flawed mother. She could still feel her hugs, the way she had told Kayla she would have never given her up if she'd had the choice.

"Every child should have that from their parents, but that's not always the case," she said, "We learn to adapt to many things, but we never adapt to not being loved."

She got up, brushing off her pants. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Erik was looking at Peter again. Kayla paused, wondering.

"Kayla?"

She turned. Logan was in the doorway, glancing from her to Erik.

"Raven says ya can go out now," he said.

"Where are you going?" asked Erik.

Kayla laughed.

"I'm not meeting my daughter in tactical gear," she said, tugging at her black, filthy clothes.

"Is that really that important?"

The question should have rankled, but his eyes were still on Peter. They were familiar eyes, but she'd often seen them laughing and trying to hide injuries.

"The first time she saw me, I was blood-splattered in the woods," she said, "But she knows who that's not who I am, that I was being controlled. I have the chance to show her something different."

"And a change of clothes will do that?'

"It'll be a start," she said, "Laura and I can figure out the rest later."

He didn't reply and Kayla turned. Logan slipped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his touch. Tactical gear or not, she was safe. More importantly, he was there. She was a third of the way home. The other two thirds were in New York, waiting for her.


	36. Chapter 36

The smoke had barely disappeared after their transportation before Kevin was eagerly tugging on Charles's sleeve. His son had been there before, and clearly knew both where they were, and where they had to go.

Next to him, Kurt slumped against the wall. Kevin seemed to notice and stopped tugging on his sleeve.

"Kurt, are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, ja, ja," Kurt said, rubbing his head "I am just…you know. I am just…"

He stumbled and Kevin let go of Charles's sleeve. He hurried to his cousin's side, trying to give him some sense of balance. Kurt accepted his hand gratefully, allowing him to be led over to a nearby bench. He sat down, but Charles could see his red eyes looking from side to side with something that spoke of nervousness.

"What's wrong?" asked Charles.

"Oh, I haf just not teleported in a long time," said Kurt, "But I should sit down for a while. If I sit down for a while, zen I vill be fine."

His voice carried a tinge of watchfulness though, something that made Charles uncomfortable. Although his entire body was singing with the urge to get to his wife, it was difficult to ignore that something was amiss with his nephew.

The feeling was only compounded by the way Kevin was looking around thoughtfully.

"Kurt, did something happen, last time you were here maybe?" asked Charles.

Kurt's face flushed, and Kevin snapped his fingers.

"Right, we didn't tell you because you were in Cerebro," he said, "This is where we were waiting when Scott and Emma went off to get…soda I think? I never found out. And I thought you needed to know, but then everything happened that night-"

"Kevin, nein," Kurt said.

Kevin shut his mouth. Charles looked at the two of them, and took a deep breath.

"What happened?" he asked.

Again, the two looked at each other, sharing looks with the floor and the ceiling too. Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, his lack of sleep once again catching up with him. His head nodded, and he pushed himself back up. It was one of the most important days of his life. He needed to stay awake for it.

So he made a decision.

"Kurt, Kevin, we need to get to Moira. But rest assured, we are going to talk about this," he said, "And I'm not leaving you a place where you clearly feel uncomfortable. We'll wait for a minute or two until you get your breath back, do you understand?"

Kurt got up so fast he nearly fell forward. Kevin moved forward and grabbed his hand.

"Nein, you vill be vith her," Kurt said, "I can valk. It is not far. And, I, I mean zat I am, vell…you know. It's okay. I am okay."

"Kurt-" Charles tried.

Kurt began hurrying down the hallway, his head held high with an exaggerated poise. Kevin gave a helpless kind of shrug, and hurried after him. Charles could only shrug as well, but he made a note to ask about this as soon as he could.

He turned a corner to find Hank talking with a young woman with dark glasses and long brown hair. Hank stopped when he spotted Kevin and Kurt, a look of relief washing over his features as Kurt made a beeline for the nearest bench. Hank's expression became even more excited when he spotted Charles.

"Thank God," he said, "They started pushing having it within the hour because their best surgeon has something in two hours, some sort of scheduling conflict."

"We're going to all have words about that later," the young woman said, her voice tired, "He's talented, but he's also something of a prima donna. But don't worry. Now that you're here, everything should be fine."

Charles managed a kind smile, and quickly noted the cane she had clutched in one hand. He decided not to put his hand out to shake until he was closer or, better yet, until she did. Hank clearly seemed to have a high regard for her, and he didn't want to offend her.

He drew a little closer and, to his relief, she put out her hand.

"Carly Crocker," she said.

"Charles Xavier," he said, taking her hand in his.

She shook it once, and Kevin moved a little closer.

"Miss Crocker, can we go see my mom now?" he asked, "I don't mean to be rude, and I think you're super nice, but-"

"No, of course you can go in," she said, "They won't start surgery prep for another few minutes."

Kevin nodded and hurried to the room, pulling the door open. He held it there, and Charles smiled, realizing the kindness his son was performing for him. He'd barely made it into the room before Kevin skated around him though, hurrying to his mother's side.

Moira looked up, and all Charles could do was smile. It seemed like forever had passed since he'd seen his wife, although it really hadn't even been a month. He'd felt her absence every time he woke up and her body wasn't pressed into his, her hair tickling his face.

Being in the hospital hadn't seemed to change her, no stress marring her face, no sallowness or dark circles from a lack of sleep. If not for the IVs and pale hospital gown, he'd have sworn she was at home, taking a nap after a long day.

Her face broke into a smile as Kevin rushed to the bedside. Moira reached out and pulled him into a one armed hug. For the millionth time since she had become pregnant Charles yearned for legs. Legs would have carried him into the room as fast as his son, would've had her in his arms by now.

But when she looked up, tears gathering in her eyes as he approached, all thoughts of anything but her face vanished. He reached out, cupping her cheek with his hand and drawing her closer. Her soft lips brushed against his temple as he nuzzled her tenderly, content in the smell of her hair, her skin.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you too," she said.

Her lips brushed his temple again as she moved away, mindful of Kevin's presence. If his son hadn't been there he wasn't sure if he'd ever been able to let her go but, yet again, reality was clamoring to be heard. They didn't have much time before she had to go into surgery.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine, but a little frustrated," she said, "The surgeon is really insistent, and I've been assured it's not terribly urgent."

"Miss Crocker said he's a prima donna, which doesn't really make much sense, because I don't think he's going to the ballet after this," Kevin said.

The laughter that spilled from their lips seemed as unstoppable as it was inappropriate. Kevin grinned, looking between the two of them.

"I knew what she meant," he said, "I just liked this better."

"I'll be taking that image with me when delivery starts," laughed Moira, "I just…you haven't seen this guy, but imagining him in a tutu is just…he's so tall and...it's way…way too much."

Kevin's grin widened, but it faltered for a minute.

"It's gonna be easy though, right?" he said, "The birth, I mean. Nothing is going to go wrong or-"

"They tell me it's one of the most textbook cases they've seen of pre-eclampsia," she said, "The whole thing was manageable as long as I stayed in the hospital and they took care of everything. It's going to be fine Kevin."

She smiled at him, and Kevin's grin growing back to its original brilliance.

"Besides," Moira said, "Your brother wants to meet you."

She placed her hand on her stomach. Kevin reached out, touching his mother's stomach right underneath her hand. Charles placed his hand over both of them, his fingers curling over theirs. Even though his brain still felt a little like oatmeal, he had enough strength for this.

Joy bubbled up in their minds, as well as a wave of strong love. Their unborn child's love seemed to grow stronger every time he came in contact with them.

 _Soon_ , Charles said, _From all of us, soon._

Excitement pierced through the bond, twirling through the love and joy already present. Charles smiled. It seemed like the baby only had three emotions, but their purity were some of the most amazing things he'd ever felt.

 _Soon_ , he repeated.

Charles opened his eyes, and was met with the happy expressions of his wife and son.

"He is ready to see us," he said, "Just as ready as we are."

Kevin withdrew his hand, his expression bursting with excitement. Charles felt bad for what he was about to do next, but there were things he needed to discuss with Moira, things Kevin shouldn't be present for. He didn't know what Erik and Levine had decided to do next with Stryker, but it did need to be discussed.

"Kevin, do you mind if I talked to your mother in private for a moment?" he asked.

His son looked disappointed, but nodded. Perhaps he understood, or maybe he just thought it was an adult thing. Either way, Charles was glad, yet again, for Kevin's trust.

"I love you mom," he said.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. In turn, Moira pulled him into a hug.

"I love you too," she said, "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Kevin smiled and hopped off his chair. Charles followed him with his eyes out of the room, giving him a thumbs-up as he slipped out.

When he turned back to his wife, he found she was holding his card.

 _"_ _You loved me first," Moira whispered, "but afterwards my love, outsoaring yours, sang such a loftier song. As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. Which owes the other most?"_

 _He reached out, gently caressing her face with his hand. Charles leaned forward, his lips hovering less than an inch above hers._

 _"_ _Mine," he said, "Mine owes yours more, because you accepted it despite everything that had happened. No matter the years, you still wanted it."_

 _She smiled, raising her head up slightly so her lips could touch his. He closed his eyes, his fingers threading into hers. His lips, moved down, taking her bottom lip between them, parting his softly as they each drew breath._

 _Charles pulled back slightly, his forehead still touching hers._

 _"_ _I'm so sorry I was gone," he said._

 _"_ _You did what you needed to do," murmured Moira, "And now…Hank told me Essex is gone."_

 _"_ _Yes," Charles said, "I would've preferred a trial but…in the end, he didn't leave us with much of a choice. I suspect that's the way he wanted it."_

 _"_ _Perhaps," Moira said, "But we're still the big winners. Levine told me they're going to court martial Stryker."_

 _"_ _I hadn't heard that," said Charles, "When did you-?"_

 _"_ _He called me about twenty minutes ago on a secure line. To be fair, he hadn't heard I'll become a mother twice over in the next hour," she said, "From the way he reacted on the phone, I had the bigger news."_

 _He chuckled, and there was a knock on the door. Both turned, and he saw Carly there, her face nervous._

 _"_ _They'll need to start doing prep work in the next ten minutes," she said, "I'm sorry about this, but Dr. Strange is insisting we do it now, not that there's any reason to panic, and I want you to get the best of care-"_

 _"_ _No, I understand," Moira said, "I'll be two more minutes."_

 _Carly nodded and left the room. Moira looked back at him, her eyes shining._

 _"_ _Are you ready?" she asked._

 _"_ _I should be asking you that," Charles said._

 _"_ _Charles, last time I did this it took thirteen hours with minimal pain killers," she said, "Now I'm going to sleep through it. I'm more than ready."_

 _"_ _As am I," Charles said, "Although the reasons are, admittedly, rather different."_

 _She laughed, taking his hands in his._

 _"_ _Then that's good. But stop thinking you owe me. For one is both and both are one in love," she said, "Rich love knows nought of thine that is not mine; both have the strength and both the length thereof."_

 _He gave her hand one last squeeze._

"B _oth of us, of the love which makes us one," he said._


	37. Chapter 37

Peter woke up, yawning and stretching. He had to ask Kayla what kind of sleeping aides those were, because they were fantastic. He hadn't gotten that good a night's sleep since never. Sleep just seemed to be taking time he could use for something else.

He rolled to his side, trying to remember where the clock was on. Kayla had told him she would only let him sleep for a few hours, and he'd need to figure out just how long it had been. Instead, he saw his father sitting by the bed, his eyes alert.

Peter did a double take. How long had he been there? Why? Peter hadn't been hurt in the battle at the factory. The most that had happened was being told he needed to drink more water, and he'd almost drowned in it on the plane. He felt like he was ten thousand percent water right now.

So why was his father sitting there, almost looking at him like he was waiting for something? Honest to God, it was terrifying. Had something happened? If something had, he'd probably be talking now. Why wasn't he talking?

Was he supposed to say something, or was that on the guy who was much more awake than he was? Peter had no idea. He awkwardly straightened up, his mind racing. And, as was so often the case, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I wasn't snoring, was I?" he asked.

His father raised a brow.

"Because I have these really gross snores," said Peter, wondering if his tongue was just on auto-pilot, "Totally embarrassing. My mom said it was like walking in on a herd of elephants."

His father shook his head.

"You weren't snoring," he said.

"Good," Peter said, grinning, "Because I thought I'd outgrown that, you know? And um, yeah. I mean, maybe it's not something you outgrow necessarily-"

"Peter, calm down," his father said.

Peter snapped his mouth shut. His father leaned back in his chair.

"I thought you should know a decision has already been made concerning Stryker," he said.

"Oh yeah, military asshole guy," said Peter.

The words were immature, even for him, but they were out automatically. Maybe the sleeping aides were making his lips even looser than usual. He'd have to look into the side effects sometime.

"Yes," his father said, "It appears he'll be court martialed to cut down on the chance his political friends will weasel their way into the trial. It was agreed it was a safer route."

"Cool," said Peter, "So, do we get to lock him up, throw away the key?"

"They're hoping it's more put him somewhere that he'll never see the light of day," his father said, "There's an agency gaining grown in D.C., some long, stupid, beauacratic name. They have a few prisons for people of his caliber."

"Not sure what that means," Peter said.

His father shrugged.

"They were some of the people who bid on constructing my prison cell," he said, "Trask beat them out by a hair."

"Huh," Peter said, "Do the others know about this?"

"Yes. Logan was under the impression he should be put up in front of a firing squad, but I don't think they do that anymore," Erik said.

"That guy really is ancient," Peter said, "The others cool with it?"

"Raven wants his people to take responsibility for him, and Kayla just wants to move on," he said, "But something else happened I didn't tell them about."

Peter frowned, and his father ran a hand through his hair.

"For a long time there's been talk of a pardon, given what happened with Nur," he said, "While not all the facts are known, they decided it was enough for a presidential pardon. The official announcement is scheduled for tomorrow. After that…no one will be looking for me."

A stupid grin spread over Peter's face. He clambered to the edge of the bed, grabbing his father's hand and shaking it. His father's expression didn't change, but Peter just kept pumping his hand up and down.

"That is rad!" Peter said, "I mean, really! Congratulations! You can like, go to the supermarket without a baseball cap or sunglasses now! Awesome!"

"Peter," his father said, "Calm down."

The heaviness in his father's voice was enough to make Peter stop his motions. He let go of his father's hand uncertainly and sat back down. Was there something he was missing? What part about getting pardoned wasn't amazing?

"What…what's wrong?" he asked, "I mean…shouldn't that make you happy?"

"Not as happy as you," his father said, "Mostly because, in all honesty, it comes about a year too late to really help anyone."

Peter felt the joy drain from his lungs. He leaned back against the headboard. His sister and stepmom.

"Right," he said, "I mean…I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be that either," his father said, "Because, as you pointed out, I can be somewhere now without anyone trying to arrest me. It would, I suppose, give Charles less trouble, and I owe him that, especially if I want to stay."

He hesitated.

"And I think I may also owe that to you," he said, "And that is one of the few things that makes me feel any emotion about this."

His father's tone was struggling, but it was nothing compared to what Peter was feeling. The words were turning into shackles, each one locking him into place. It was good, because, despite everything, there was a little part of him that still wanted to run away from this.

"I think…Peter, I just…I have…" his father said, "I…goddamnit."

Peter could feel a sense of panic rise inside him. His fingers clenched in the fabric of his blanket. Sweat was coating the inside of his hands as his heartbeat increased to an almost frantic rate.

"I should start…I've been thinking about this a great deal," his father said, "And…well, all things considered…there are certain things I've noticed...our blood type, and..."

A moment passed, then two. His father looked down at his hands, and Peter let go of the blanket.

"I need to know-"

"I'm your son."

His father's head jerked up. The words had come out easier than he'd thought they would.

"I've wanted to tell you for almost a year now," Peter said, "I came to Westchester because I thought maybe the Professor could find you. I thought you just needed to know. And then there was all this other stuff going on, and we were in Cairo, and I wanted to tell you. I was gonna tell you."

"That is what you were trying to say," his father said, his voice ponderous.

"Yeah," said Peter, "But I just, I looked at you, and I couldn't. I didn't know why. I told myself later that it was because you'd just lost so much and, I mean, you didn't even know me. It was totally not cool for me to do that then. And, yeah, that was part of it but…I mean, it just wouldn't come out. Years of wanting to tell you about everything, of wanting to meet you, and I just…couldn't."

His cheeks felt warm. Peter wanted to touch them and find out why, he didn't feel hot, but then tears fell onto his jacket. How long had he been crying?

"I think, I mean, I think the reason why I couldn't…why it's taken me so long," said Peter, "I think, I think…"

The tears kept coming down as, for the first time since his declaration, twords became difficult to find. He swallowed hard. He wasn't breathing, at least he didn't think so. He wanted to be able to breathe, to stop crying, but neither of those things felt like they were going to be possible.

He thought of watching his stepfather walk away for the second time in the factory in Japan, of the way his father had yelled and screamed at him when he'd met him covered in soot and dirt.

And, as he looked down, the words came.

"I think it's because I know now that, you'll believe me when I say that I don't think it's a mistake that you're my father," he said, "And, maybe it's because, even if you don't want me, I know you won't think of me as your mistake, that at least-"

His words were swallowed as his father grabbed him, pulling him into a fierce hug that splattered tears over the two of them.

* * *

It had to have been 1958, given Peter's age. He would've been conceived in a motel room that Erik would ultimately rent for two months. That much he could remember. He wished he could remember more, maybe how the woman in question had looked. She'd had dark brown hair, and her name had been Magda. That was all he knew, and he should remember more.

The fact of the matter remained that it hadn't been a long relationship. She'd seemed cagey, and he hadn't wanted to stay there for too much longer. He'd only been taking a brief break from hunting Shaw after all. He was still years away from the breakthrough that would lead him to the CIA and Charles Xavier.

But it had ended badly, the exact specifics had faded. It hadn't been that she had been engaged to another man, because that information had only clicked seconds ago. Yesterday, he wouldn't have given a damn about any of it but now, now he wished he remembered more, because there'd been a son.

And now that son was here in his arms. He was twenty-six, sporting shoes spray-painted to match his hair. He liked cake and coming up with strange nicknames for things. He wanted to be a teacher, probably of art, and was very, very good with kids. It was his exuberance, the way he could make people laugh and look at the world as though he was seeing it for the first time every day.

"I'm so, so damn sorry," he said.

"What for?" Peter managed, "I mean…I just told you."

"I wasn't there," said Erik, "I wasn't…and that sonuvabitch told you…I…"

He dug his fingers into Peter's shoulder, realizing that Peter would've grown up with every single news report about Magneto. He'd been surprised by Erik's declaration that he killed the president, but he would've seen what happened at D.C. He would've read about him, known that he'd thrown his lot in with Nur.

"You still came," he said, pulling away, "In Cairo, you still came for me. Why? Why the hell would you do that?"

His voice was harsher than he'd meant, and, despite the tears bathing Peter's face, his expression was more confused than sad.

"I told you," Peter stammered, "I…I was there for my family."

"You didn't know me!"

"I wanted to!" Peter said, "That's all I ever wanted. And I thought…I thought that, maybe you would want to know me too. I mean…you do, don't you?"

His voice was pleading, matching a look in his eyes that made Erik want to run and never look back. But on the day his wife had handed him Nina, he'd vowed that his child wouldn't lose her parents like he'd lost his. He'd vowed that he'd be there for her, that she'd be spared the pain of losing her father.

Ultimately, she hadn't lost him. She'd lost so much more. And, looking at Peter, that terrified him

"I don't know if I'll be a good father," said Erik.

It wasn't, he knew, the kind of thing Peter wanted to hear. However, it wasn't something he could fake. Peter needed to know that before he went any further.

"Maybe I'll be a shitty son," Peter said.

"I highly doubt that."

"No, I mean it," said Peter, "I was kind of an asshole to my mom, and my stepdad was an asshole, but he never liked me even a little. And I-"

"Peter, you're not a mistake," Erik said, "Your stepfather was the mistake, my mistake."

Peter stopped talking, his eyes widening slightly. How had he not seen his own eyes in Peter before now?

"You should've been…well, you should've at least known…" Erik said.

A strangled, frustrated sound made its way through his teeth. Logically, Peter never would've been able to be by his side. He never would've had the chance to raise him, not with the way things had turned out. Even if he had known about him, would he have been enough of a bastard to take him as a child from his mother? Unlikely.

So he said the only thing that, no matter what, would've been true.

"Nina would have loved you as a brother."

Peter swallowed, and Erik saw more tears drip from his jaw onto his jacket.

"I always wanted a little sister," he said.

Erik reached out, pulling his sleeve up with his hand. He moved it across Peter's face, trying to wipe away the torrent of tears. It was soaked within seconds.

"I probably won't be the father you always dreamed of," he said, "But…I will never leave until you tell me to. You have my word."

Peter raised his hand, stilling Erik's. His mouth started to twist into a smile. It wasn't one of wild grins though. Instead, it was something quieter and much, much deeper.

"I may not be the best son," he said, "But…we're smart. Between the two of us, I think we'll figure it out."

His son hesitated, and then hugged him. It wasn't as fierce as Erik's, but it was more thoughtful. Erik hugged him back, wondering what he had done to deserve a second child after his failure with his first.

"And…just so you know?" Peter said, "I'll never ask you to leave."

All thoughts of questioning the universe's decision fled, leaving only something Erik had rarely had in his life: hope.


	38. Chapter 38

Laura pulled her knees up to her chin and tucked her hands into her sleeves. She should've remembered gloves, but she hated gloves almost as much as she hated scarves. They just kept distracting her when she was in class. The tassels always wanted to be braided.

She shivered and took another long look over the grounds. There weren't any cars in the driveway, and she didn't even hear the whisper of one. It was cold and misty, so visibility wasn't very good, but there wasn't anyone else.

Laura turned back and looked into one of the small windows near the door. She could just make out the grandfather clock on the wall. It was a little after six. Emma would get herself ready for bed, and then she'd come to help her get ready. She had about ten minutes until she started to look for her.

When she did find her, she knew she would make her go inside. Emma told her her mother would be very upset if she caught a cold, which is what she had said when she'd been waiting outside when it was raining. Laura didn't see why her aunt was so worried: she was wearing her yellow rain coat and hat, and she'd had her boots on. She even had her boots on now.

She'd actually debated leaving them upstairs and slipping into her nice shoes. However, the front yard was filled with mud and puddles after the afternoon rain. So she'd kept her big yellow boots, swallowing her stockings and coming up to her knees. They squeaked when they moved.

Laura hugged herself tighter. Her parents were coming any minute now. She was sure of it. She'd see her mother, really see her, for the first time tonight. She wouldn't have blood on her, or that dead look in her eyes. Her mother would be that woman her father got quiet over, that Emma said she looked like.

And she would love her too, just like Emma and her father had loved her. Laura wanted her to love her, because everything would be so perfect fi she did. Everyone would be safe, and happy, and they could all love each other for the rest of their lives. No one would ever take them away. There would be no people like Essex who would come and hurt them. He was gone. The Professor had said so.

She had wished so hard for it for so long. She just wanted them. Her book said she could have it.

 _Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it._

And she had given everything. She'd given her old life which, she knew, wasn't much. She'd learned to read, to be friends, not to stare at or sniff people. She'd learned to do what she was told, and to be curious. She'd even bled quietly in the kitchen, not complaining. Laura had given everything.

Now she just had to wait.

* * *

Emma finished brushing her hair. It was early to get ready for bed but, once she was done, she would have to go get Laura and get her ready. She knew her niece was anxious to meet her mother, but it wouldn't do to have her get cold or ill.

It was something to focus on rather than the trembling in her hands and soul. In a few hours, tonight perhaps, she would see her sister again. It had been three years since she'd held her in her arms. The collar would be off, her smile and flashing eyes real again.

Emma put down her brush in her kit and pulled her white bathrobe over her matching nightgown. Everything looked ready. She hesitated, and then leaned in. Slowly, she pulled back her bangs, her heart in her throat.

The scar from Cerebro had all but healed. She smiled, because she didn't really like bangs. Emma could grow them out now that there was nothing to hide,nothing to hope her sister couldn't see. She could be as beautiful, as in control, as her mother had been.

The door to the communal bathroom opened and Emma jerked back. Jean was in the doorway, her face flushing as her hands gripped her shower materials tighter to her chest. Emma shrugged and turned back to the mirror, pretending to be straightening something under her eye.

But, at the same time, she kept a discreet eye on Jean. Quietly, the girl moved behind her and put her things on a bench. Emma had kept out of Jean's way since the day she'd called her a goddman bitch or, rather, she'd made a studied habit of ignoring the other girl.

That being said, this was the first time she'd seen her since she'd spoken to Logan.

 _"I know from experience, that it can turn ya into an animal. Your sister showed me a different way, a way I'd almost forgotten til I found out I still had more ta lose. Because I can't be an animal. Laura doesn't need that. You don't need that."_

Emma rolled her eyes, but the voice was nagging her, like it had nagged her since Logan had spoken. In her mind's eye, she could almost taste Kayla's surprise at her vitriol at a girl like Jean. She'd probably dreamed of teaching girls like that one day.

She had to do something about it.

"Did you do it on purpose?" she said.

Jean turned, startled. Emma sighed and turned around, crossing her arms over her chest.

"On Muir Island," she said, "You hurt me to the point where I wanted to die. Given some of the shit I went through, that's saying something. So. Did you do it on purpose?"

Jean was still blinking, and the nasty thought that she was supposed to be smart rose inside. Emma stored it away because, while it was true, it probably wasn't particularly helpful at the moment. Not when Kayla and Logan were so close.

"I…I'm sorry. I didn't know it would hurt that much. It's not…not what I meant to do. I just wanted you to stop," Jean said, "You were hurting everyone and I just…I didn't know what else to do."

"You know Scott had literally just convinced me to help," said Emma.

"I didn't know that," said Jean, "I just saw him screaming."

Emma looked at her for a moment longer, looking for signs of deceit. She didn't see anything.

"That kind of makes it worse you know," she said.

"What?"

"Look at it this way," said Emma, turning away and packing up her things, "There are a few things I know about you. You'd never, for example, willingly harm a child. Willingly is the key word here. If you don't have control, then you could end up hurting Laura one day."

"I don't want to," Jean said.

Her voice was emphatic, which was good.

"I know that," said Emma, "But people make other people do things all the time. I did things I'm not proud of at Muir. Kayla probably did to. People can make you do things, but at least I controlled myself into that. If the thing was bad enough, I could've chosen to die."

She finished packing up and looked back at Jean. The girl looked at her hands, at her towel and shampoo. She wondered if Essex had never touched her, had never ripped Kayla from her side, would she be like Jean? Maybe be her friend?

She doubted it. She would never have been able to be that naïve or sweet. Not with her namesake as her mother. Perhaps they might have been friends though. Emma found the thought didn't entirely repulse her.

So she made her decision.

"It's unlikely I'll feel safe around you until you get control. Maybe I won't like you very much," she said, "But I don't think you're a goddamn bitch: not anymore. And I accept your apology."

Jean looked back up at her, her mouth parted slightly. Why was this so important to her?

"Thank you," she ventured.

"Thank Logan," said Emma, "He knows a thing or two."

She turned and headed back to her room. Her hands, she realized, were trembling. Curious.

* * *

Having Peter take her first had been her own idea. Logan had wanted to go first, but Kayla had wanted an extra minute to adjust. He might be able to guide her through the school better, but she wanted a chance to get her sea legs before they went in, a chance to quell the butterflies in her stomach.

They had been boiling as she'd shopped for clothes that made her look normal. Kayla had almost forgotten what it was like to buy her own clothes. For the past three years, everything had been provided. She'd been given fantastically lavish dresses and grungy jackets for undercover missions, military fatigues for day wear.

It had been years since she'd made clothing decisions, and never with this much money. Her daughter was going to be seeing her soon too, and she wanted her first real impression of her to be good. Logan had tried to assure her that Laura already loved her, but she needed to let her know who she was.

In the end, she'd decided on burgundy slacks and dark brown boots. Her thick jacket was a soft yellow with too many buttons, tying in the middle. She was glad that it was thick because, as Peter ran, she realized just how cold it was in New York. She'd never been, but as the mists blinked past, she felt a dark chill against her skin. Peter dropped her off in front of Westchester, grinning like a fool. He'd been doing that ever since she'd gotten back from her shopping trip.

In an instant, he was gone. Soon, he'd return with Logan. She looked at the school, at the big windows. The last time she'd been there, she'd wept and screamed inside her head almost the entire time. Even before she'd seen Emma, Laura and Logan, she'd known she was attacking a school.

Her eyes trailed down and, suddenly, she became aware she was being watched. Kayla looked and saw a little girl sitting on the doorstep, her yellow boots gleaming. Her eyes were big and dark, watching Kayla like she wasn't real, but the girl was the one who had haunted Kayla's dreams.

Those eyes were her eyes, set into a face that, at least in shape, reminded her of Logan's. The girl was hunched into her sweater, but she slowly got to her feet, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Kayla didn't say anything, didn't move. She didn't dare.

Laura though, Laura did. She began running, her yellow boots splashing in the puddles. Kayla knelt down, watching every detail. From the hairs on the top of her head to her booted toes, she was the most beautiful thing Kayla had ever seen.

Her daughter stopped a few inches from her, suddenly bashful. Laura looked down at the ground, then back up at her. She blinked a few times, and her mouth opened. Kayla listened eagerly: she'd never heard her daughter's voice.

But Laura didn't speak, just stared. Slowly, gently, Kyla reached out with both of her hands. Her fingers touched her daughter's cheek, brushed her silken strands of hair. She cupped Laura's face, hoping her hands were warm enough for her daughter's cold face.

Laura started to smile.

"You are so very perfect," Kayla said, "In every way."

There was a noise behind them, but Kayla didn't look around. Laura didn't look up, just reached out and touched Kayla's hands.

"Is this between sleep and awake?" Laura asked, her voice a song, "When I still remember dreaming?"

Kayla's brow furrowed. Then out of time, a memory rose, first from her childhood, then from preparing to teach children about a boy who wouldn't grow up.

"Perhaps," she said, "Because this is where I'll always love you."

Laura started crying, and burrowed her way into Kayla's arms. Kayla held her tightly to her chest, the tears squeezing through her lashes. Logan knelt behind her, his heavy, warm arms on her shoulders. She leaned into his touch, but didn't let go of Laura.

The air stirred again, and Kayla just managed to look up. Emma, her baby sister, was standing before her, all grown up in a mud-splattered night gown. Peter stood beside her, smiling and stepping away as a choking gasp left Emma's lips.

Kayla reached out. Emma moved forward, throwing her arms around her neck. And it was there there, holding and being held, Kayla was finally home.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Two more chapters._


	39. Chapter 39

_**A/N:**_ _I had someone ask me in a comment about a conversation between Charles and Raven about Jean in "On a Beach in Cuba." They had their private messaging turned off, but I was referring to what happened in Cairo. Raven would've seen Jean had tremendous power, but she didn't use it in her daily life. I think that would've been confusing to her._

* * *

Hank leaned against the vending machine and rubbed the back of his neck. When he'd left, they'd said it wouldn't be too much longer. He knew there wouldn't be much time to see the child because, even though this was planned, the baby was being born around a month early. They'd need to go into the proper room, have their temperature and weight taken.

They'd want to whisk the baby away as soon as possible, all things considered. He couldn't blame them for that, the most important thing was the child's health. At the same time, Charles and Kevin would get priority. He didn't think even Kurt and Raven would be able to hold the baby tonight.

He'd been a little surprised to see her arrive in the hall, but she'd explained Peter had found out where they'd gone from another one of their teachers. Hank had given Raven his seat, explaining he needed to get a soda. Honestly though, she would be the baby's aunt. She would get preferential treatment. That was the way this worked.

"Are you alright Hank?"

He turned his head, not at all surprised to see Carly standing there. She had a wonderful habit of finding him, even when he didn't know he wanted to be found. He smiled at her, then looked curiously up at the clock.

"Shouldn't you be off shift?" he asked, "Putting your feet up, something like that?"

"Hank, I live here," she said, "It's not much of a stretch for me to come a few halls down."

Hank looked at her for a moment longer, debating on whether or not he should call her out. Her apartment, as he understood it, was on the other side of the hospital. The place she clocked out at was even further than that. Coming back up here would have been a forty, almost fifty minute round trip.

It was a nice thought that she'd come all that way just for him, one he doubted was true.

"How's Moira?" asked Carly.

"Good," Hank said, "She's…I mean, she's still out, but they told us it'd be over soon."

"You should be down there," said Carly, "I'm sure she'd want you there."

Hank managed a smile.

"There won't be much time after the baby's born," he said, "She'll want that time to go to her husband and son."

"After maybe? You were the one who helped her while she was at the hospital," said Carly.

"After, definitely," Hank said.

He leaned against the wall. Carly's hands started to move over each other as they rested on her cane.

"I wanted to um, well, all things considered, I thought maybe, um, well," she said.

He frowned and Carly swallowed.

"Given that tonight or tomorrow night's probably your last night at the hospital, I just, well," she said, "I wanted to make sure you got a proper goodbye."

For a moment, Hank had no idea what she was talking about. It hit him like a tidal wave: after the baby was born, there would be no reason for him to be at the hospital. He should've started packing the moment Charles told him Essex was taken care of. He'd only been there as a protector, someone to help in case something happened.

Carly reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear. Her tongue darted out, whetting her lips.

"It's been nice having you here for the past few weeks," she said, "I just…long shifts seemed a little less lonely. I'm going to…I'm going to miss our talks."

Hank swallowed, wondering where his tongue was. He wanted to tell her he was going to miss more than their talks. Hank would miss the way her hair fell over her shoulders when she cocked her head or how her entire face changed when she smiled.

"And…I'm just sad I won't see you after tomorrow," she said.

"Who says you won't see me?" asked Hank.

She looked up, her lips parting in surprise. He swallowed again, his hands and forehead sweating, stomach fluttering. It was now or never and he knew that, if he was left to his own devices, he'd pick never.

But he'd taken those steps toward her, ignoring the urge to run down the hallway. He'd known it was scary, he'd never been good at things like this, but he'd seen no reason not to then. Hank still didn't see any reason not to that wasn't based in cowardice.

So he stepped forward.

"I mean, after this," he said, "I thought, maybe, well, maybe Monday, round six, I could come back. There's this nice restaurant in town and I thought you might want to…"

His voice sounded thin and reedy in his ears, but he'd gone too far to back out.

"…thought maybe you might like to go with me," he said.

She breathed in slowly, and one of her hands reached out. It rested on his shoulder, and it felt like her fingertips were radiating spirals of pins and needles. She looked down at his shoes, and Hank closed his eyes.

"I would love to."

Her voice was quiet, shy. He opened his eyes and saw Carly biting her lip.

"I…that…that's really great," he said, "I um, I'm really, yeah. I'll be here at six and we can, I don't know, whatever we want. I'll knock or intercom or-"

"I'll know it's you," said Carly.

He laughed, more nervous and joyful than anything.

"You'll have to tell me how you do that someday," he said.

Her fingertips left his shoulder and, lightly, touched his lips. Any hopes he'd had of coherent thought disappeared.

"Honestly?" she breathed, "It's…it's your aftershave."

"My…?" he said.

He wanted to ask more, but her fingertips were still on his lips. They weren't silencing him, but the sensation was so heady he barely wanted to breathe.

"I like it," she said.

She hesitated a moment, then removed her fingertips. Hank wanted to sigh, to bring them back just to feel her skin on his. But then he saw that she was leaning in uncertainly, her lips drawing in and then flattening, and Hank realized what she wanted to do.

Barely thinking, he leaned his head down and closed the distance between the two of them. Her lips were soft, hesitant but, at the same time, welcoming. It had been so long since he'd done this, and he knew he'd probably never done it right. He wanted to do it right so much for her.

Carly breathed again, her lips parting slightly as she moved to his bottom lip. He stifled a sigh, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head. Between the softness of her hair, lips, warmth of brightness of her skin, the rushing of his blood, it felt like a sensory overload.

Intoxicated, he tilted his head so their foreheads touched. Her breath was still so soft, but so very warm on his face.

"Six?" she asked timidly.

"Six," he agreed, "I…I won't be late."

She smiled.

"I know."

* * *

Everything in Moira's mind felt hazy. Colors swirled, smoothed and warmed in her eye. So much was going on around her, but the activity in the back of the room made her want to take a look. The baby, her baby was wailing at the top of his new lungs. She wanted to take him into her arms, to tell him that everything was okay now.

However, the ache in her abdomen stopped her. She bit her lip, trying to calm down, to move past the heaviness and overwhelming warmth. She hazarded a peek down, saw the line of stitches travelling across her stomach. Moira pulled down her hospital gown to cover it, trying not to think about the surgery that had gone into creating those stitches.

The wailing continued. Moira tried to remember if Kevin had cried and screamed this much. She didn't think so, but nine years had created such a barrier. A nurse next to her clutched the side of her head. So she wasn't just imagining the volume.

Suddenly, the warmth in her head grew stronger. Something almost sharp hit her head: a headache? Everything was so fluid that she barely knew. She felt love then and, still hazy, she leaned into it, smiling. Joy bubbled up in her head, flowing through her. Moira felt herself relaxing, leaning further into the bed's pillows.

The screaming stopped, turning into excited coos. A nurse was walking toward her, holding something in a soft yellow blanket. Moira reached out, accepting the precious bundle into her arms.

"It's a boy," the nurse said, "Congratulations."

She looked down, and saw a face wrinkled and red from screaming. Small fists were clenched by his head, twisting as he wriggled. He was tiny, much tinier than Kevin. Her first son, however, had been born right on time. Her child now had been born early, still a few weeks from reaching his appropriate height and weight.

He looked up at her, and she saw her husband's beautiful blue eyes. Moira smiled and leaned forward, kissing him with trembling lips.

"I think it's time for him to meet his father and brother," she said.

The nurse walked off, and Moira traced her son's face with a finger. She moved her head down.

"Hello," she whispered, "You'll never believe the life we've got waiting for you. It's going to be wonderful."

The door opened and Charles pushed himself in, his eyes wide. Kevin trailed after him, focused on her. Moira straightened up, propping her son up in her arms.

"Come and meet your little brother Kevin," she said.

Kevin moved forward, his eyes wide. He looked at the baby in Moira's arms, and the baby blinked back.

"He's wrinkly," Kevin said, "Like a walrus."

Moira laughed, and Kevin flushed.

"I'm not saying he's ugly," he stammered, "I'm not complaining. I like him. I think-"

"I know," Moira said, putting a hand on his head fondly, "All babies look like this right after they're born though. You did too, more or less."

Looking relieved, Kevin nodded thoughtfully, resting his arms and head on the edge of her bed. Charles moved closer, his face pulled down and away. This was his first and, in all likelihood, last, birth. His eyes continued to look between her and their new son.

She took her hand away from Kevin's head, reaching out to her husband. He took her hand, moving closer.

"My love…you…you…he's so…he's beautiful," he murmured.

Moira smiled and shifted him.

"Would you like to hold him?" she asked.

Charles nodded mutely and, slowly, she handed him the newest addition to their family. The baby felt so small, so light, but she felt the loss of his warmth almost immediately.

Her husband took him securely in his arms, gazing down as though entranced. For a man who had seen teenagers fly and sparkle like diamond, a man who could find any mutant in the world, had helped save the future, she knew, in that moment, he'd never seen anything more amazing than their son.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Do you still like the name David?" she asked.

"Yes," Charles said hoarsely, "Yes, very much. He...he looks like a David."

Moira smiled, her hand gripping Charles's elbow. One of his hands reached around her, his fingers touching her temples.

 _Moira, Kevin,_ he said _, I think it's time for something else now._

She closed her eyes and smiled. For a moment, there was nothing.

 _Little one?_ Charles said, _We're here now._

A small feeling of excitement filled her and she could almost see David looking at them through his new eyes.

 _I'm your big brother, Kevin_ , said Kevin, _I'll teach you how to play baseball, and I've got a lot of cool friends now. We'll have a ton of fun with them._

She smiled wider, remembering the boy who had shrugged when she asked him if he wanted to play with other children.

 _I'm your mother,_ she said, _I'll make sure Kevin doesn't get too carried away, and that you won't either._

Charles chuckled next to her.

 _I'm your father_ , he said, _I'll be there to help you however I can. We all will, because we love you so much._

And, in the silence, they felt David's love crash over them in a wave.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Six months later...**_

"Okay, for the last time, yes, there were German pirates!"

Sam looked at Kurt, unconvinced.

"Pirates are English," he said.

"Pirates were everywhere!" Peter said, "My dad told me there were even Polish pirates!"

Sam gave him a slightly more skeptical look. Peter threw his hands up and looked over at Kurt, for support, Kevin figured. Kurt didn't say anything though. He was too busy trying to glue a toy sword back together. Amanda was next to him, still in her half-made Victorian evening costume, trying to help.

Kevin grinned and flicked his wrist. Black sand swirled around the hilt of the sword, and it was one piece again. Kurt frowned at the sudden repair, then looked over at Kevin. His cousin smiled in thanks, and Kevin tipped his hat.

The feather came off.

"Okay, how about no more roughhousing tonight?" asked Amanda as Kevin knelt to pick it up and put it in his pocket, "Emma and I have enough work on our hands finishing the costumes before Friday, and I'm getting really tired of having to sew buttons back on dresses."

"But my bow came off when Kurt, um, Captain Hook, kidnapped me," said Laura, "That wasn't my fault."

"Your bow came off?" asked Amanda, dismayed.

Kurt moved away, looking at her nervously. He looked over at Laura, who looked at Kevin, confused. He gestured toward Amanda, and Laura's eyes lit up.

"Or his," Laura said, "It wasn't Kurt's fault either."

"Great," Amanda said.

"Liebling, it vas accident," Kurt said.

Amanda sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"Just be a little careful next time you kidnap our little Wendy, alright?" she asked.

"Ja," said Kurt, "I vill be good villain and carefully kidnap ze children."

Despite the way Amanda threw her hands up, Kevin could see she was laughing. Megan grinned from her place on the table, right before adjusting her Tiger Lily headband. Next to her, Xi'an swung her legs, some of the tulle on the Tinkerbell costume getting kicked up.

"Okay, we are totally getting off topic here right now," Peter said, "And having me say that is not good."

He got up on a nearby table, tapping his foot once.

"Now, as your teacher, and director of the school's first play, I command your attention," he said, "We don't have that much time before the play, and I need all my main actors in focus for the big day. We've only got three more group rehearsals and three ones with the main actors-"

"Two," Amanda corrected.

"Two?" asked Peter, "Okay, you know what? No more mister nice guy. Those who don't obey from now on will be fed to the crocodile."

"We don't have a crocodile yet," Kevin said, "We haven't finished the paper mache in class."

"Use your imagination," said Peter, "Literally in your case."

He jumped down, just managing to land on his feet to keep from stumbling.

"So, bottom line," he said, "There were German pirates, and Kurt has to be Hook because he's also playing Wendy's father, and they do this thing in the play where Hook is like, also the dad."

"Why?" asked Xi'an.

"Probably to save on actors," said Peter dismissively, "Which is kinda weird, since there aren't that many parts. I have a kid playing a dog for crying out loud."

"And if my actual dad had to do that, he would look silly in an eye patch," Laura said.

From his spot by the table, Kurt reached up and scratched underneath his pirate eye patch.

"Correct!" Peter cried, "Your dad would look crazy silly in an eye patch!"

"The hell?"

"Language."

Kevin turned and saw Laura's parents in the doorway. He wondered how long they'd been there, but Peter just sagged.

"Aww, man!" he said, "Is it ten already?"

"Yeah, it is," Laura's dad said, "And what's up with the eye patch thing?"

"I just said you couldn't wear an eye patch because you would look silly," said Laura, "You don't…like eye patches, do you?"

Her mother laughed.

"Well, you're right about the silly part," she said, "When you're older, I'll tell you all about the time your father and I had to go to Madripoor."

Laura's father gave her mother a disbelieving look.

"Some of it, anyway," she said, "But you need to wrap it up here. It's almost time for bed. We have to be up early so I can cover Hank's first period."

"Don't understand why ya hafta cover just coz he wants ta see his girl," Laura's father said.

"He'll owe me."

Peter rolled his eyes, but clapped his hands.

"Anyway," he said, "Besides the whole costume thing, you guys did great tonight. So everyone very gently fold their costumes, and then hand them back to Amanda or Emma in the morning."

Peter clapped his hands again, and everyone started to move. Kevin felt Laura tap his shoulder shyly.

"See you tomorrow Peter Pan!" she said.

"See you tomorrow Wendy," he said.

She giggled and ran to her mother's side. For his part, Kevin looked down at his watch. His bedtime was a little later than Laura's, and they'd stopped earlier than he'd thought they would. So, giving Peter a quick wave, he headed upstairs toward his room.

He went inside, putting his hat on the dresser. Hurriedly, he pulled his green costume off, probably being less gentle than Amanda wanted. Kevin threw on his pajamas and, grabbing his watch and his book, he headed back into the hall.

No one was there, so it was easy enough to make it to his brother's room with ease. His parents, he knew, wouldn't be in to check on him for another couple of minutes. He was glad they trusted him enough to make it from the library to his room, mostly because it was such a small distance, but also because that meant he had a little bit of time.

He quickly opened the door and then shut it behind him. Kevin grinned as his little brother made a sleepy coo. David had been small when he'd been born, but he had ballooned since then, his arms and legs now chubby. He was difficult to hold, and Kevin wasn't tall enough to safely move him outside of the crib.

That wasn't a problem though. He put his book down on a small window seat and then walked toward the crib. Kevin waved his hands, and the crib's bars at eye level shifted back, a few grains of black sand hanging in the air. He wasn't sure it was sand anymore, not like he'd been when the wave had washed over Peter all that time ago.

His father had told him something about bending the world, making it move. He'd managed to create a shield out of air and dirt for Peter and Laura's father, pushing them down and protecting them from the explosion. Combined with the heat, the top layers of sand had turned into glass.

Kevin still wasn't too sure about all that. What he was sure about was that it was a good way to get his brother out of his crib when he wanted. He reached in and picked him up, shifting his weight. David blinked his blue eyes, yawning once and leaning into Kevin's shoulder.

He walked over to the window seat and sat down. He managed to get the two of them comfortable before he picked up _Persuasion_.

"Where were we?" he asked.

David didn't answer, but Kevin felt a warm and content little bump in his head. It had taken him a while, but he'd realized that was David's way of trying to communicate with him through his mind. He didn't have any words, so he was sending him emotions.

He didn't know if his mother and father knew what David could do yet, and he didn't plan on telling them. Brothers were allowed to have secrets after all. He grinned and turned the pages to where they had left off the night before.

"But I too have been thinking over the past, and a question has suggested itself, whether there may not have been one person more my enemy even than that lady?" Kevin read, "My own self. Tell me if, when I returned to England in the year eight, with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into the Laconia, if I had then written to you, would you have answered my letter? Would you, in short, have renewed the engagement then?"

He picked up David's hand and began to uncurl his tiny fingers. With great precision, he pressed them to the paper and began to follow the words.

"Would I!" was all her answer; but the accent was decisive enough," Kevin read.

David pulled back his hand and stuck it in his mouth. Kevin wasn't discouraged. He'd have to teach him to read another night, just like he'd have to get him to understand what was being read to him. One day, he thought, he'd be able to have David understand why the words were so beautiful.

Or maybe he wouldn't like Jane Austen as much. It wasn't for everyone. He'd make sure his brother gave it a chance though. He owed it to David to try.

"Good God!" he cried, "you would! It is not that I did not think of it, or desire it, as what could alone crown all my other success; but I was proud, too proud to ask again," Kevin read, "I did not understand you. I shut my eyes, and would not understand you, or do you justice. This is a recollection which ought to make me forgive every one sooner than myself. Six years of separation and suffering might have been spared. It is a sort of pain, too, which is new to me. I have been used to the gratification of believing myself to earn every blessing that I enjoyed. I have valued myself on honorable toils and just rewards. Like other great men under reverses," he added, with a smile. "I must endeavor to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve."

* * *

Charles watched Moira from his place on the bed as she looked at the small monitor in her hands. Kevin's voice drifted through the speaker, interspersed every now and then with a soft coo or, once or twice, a giggle. Moira leaned back, resting her head in the crook of Charles's neck.

"Do you think he knows we can hear?" asked Charles, kissing the side of her head.

"Judging by how fast he heads back to his room when it's 10:30?" asked Moira, "I don't think so."

"Well, we'll let him keep his little secret then," Charles said, "Although I'm a little surprised he went to Jane Austen first, not something lighter."

"It's his favorite book," said Moira.

She turned the volume on the monitor down slightly and shifted so her hand lay flat on his chest. The smell of her hair filled his senses and, for a minute, all he did was take a deep breath. Truly, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid his eyes on.

Moira moved her head, trying to get comfortable, and her hair slipped down his chest like a veil. He thought of their wedding, the small, simple affair. Kevin had been nearly ecstatic when he'd heard they were getting married. Although he was already allowed to call him father, Charles suspected that Kevin wanted the rest of the world to know as well.

The guest list that day had been small: his sister, Erik, Hank, any of the X-men who'd wanted to come. Kevin, of course, had had a front row seat. Peter had kept him entertained as they waited for proceedings to begin, cracking jokes about how it was Kevin's turn next and, well, didn't Laura like him? Charles had never seen Kevin look more confused.

Peter had, fortunately, stopped when he realized the ceremony was beginning. Charles might have had to go into his mind to make him stop otherwise. Not that he would've had the faculties to do so. The minute he saw Moira walking toward him, her loose white dress flowing over her slightly swollen stomach, her hair pinned beneath a short veil, it was all he could do to respond to the officiant.

Truthfully, all he could really remember of that day was the way she'd smiled down at him when she'd said her "I do." He'd been waiting more than twenty years to hear her say those words and, after everything that had happened, everything they had yet to face then, she'd walked into his arms willingly and with no regrets.

Now, as his wife of a year, she cocked her head at him, no doubt catching him staring.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

He reached out and cupped her face.

"How scared I am that, one day, I'm going to wake up and none of this will be real," he said.

She shook her head and moved so she was on her knees looking down at him. Moira gently took his hands in hers, her wedding band clinking against his.

"Don't," she said, "You deserve to be awake. You deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer. We all do."

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed them. He let his eyes close softly. Even after a year of marriage, he would never get used to the feeling of her lips on his skin. Charles opened his eyes and moved his thumb, letting it drift over her cheek.

"If you say it, I shall have to believe you," he murmured.

She laughed, getting up but keeping his hands in hers. From the monitor on the table, he could only just hear his son's voice.

"Anne was tenderness itself, and she had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth's affection. His- oh no. Gotta go."

Moira turned her head as she heard the sounds of David being hastily returend to his crib. Then she turned back to him, squeezing his hands.

"Looks like it's time to tuck our son in," she said, "Want to come?"

He squeezed her hands back, knowing he would never have to let her go, let any of his family go.

"More than anything," he said.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** This has been a truly awesome journey. A few months ago, I'd pretty much made my decision to retire from the site. Then, after getting a few messages asking if I was going to write anything, seeing the movie, well, things change. Thank you all for getting me back into this: after one story, I realized just how much I missed it._

 _I've said it before, but at the heart of the X-men is family. They're dysfunctional, truth be told, with so very many issues. But when trouble comes, they know where their loyalties lie, something I felt was hammered home by Erik's decision at the end of 'Apocalypse.' They know who their family is because, in the end, family really isn't just determined by who gave birth to us or who contributed to our DNA. It's only part of the story. Our families, our bloodlines, are also determined by the people we love, whether or not they're our biological children, whether they're the siblings we grew up with or the friends who have been with us forever._

 _I knew I couldn't write any fics after 'Apocalypse' without dealing with the difficult question of parentage. Erik and Raven are such different people, and they would have such different reactions to being parents. Their children are also very unique. I love Bryan Singer's Quicksilver, and Kurt has long been my favorite X-men. I wanted to be able to do justice to plot lines I knew many readers were interested in and, quite frankly, is fascinating and needs to be explored more. In the comics, Erik and Raven loved their children in their own way. Unlike the comics, the new movies give them a chance to actually be parents. It was also unique since the decision to embrace that challenge was held, in one case, in the hands of the child and, in the other, the hands of the parent._

 _As for Logan/Kayla/Laura/Emma dynamic, I don't know how many of you have seen the new 'Logan' trailer. I have mixed feelings about the movie, mostly because it looks a little less hopeful than what we've been seeing lately. On the other hand, I'm 100% sure that girl is supposed to be Laura. For the characters in my story though, I wanted to envision a different, but similar way things could have gone down from the 'Origins' movie. 'Days of Future Past' made everything bad about the third movie go away, and we got a much more intricate universe. I can't imagine it not changing 'Origins,' and for the better. There was real potential there._

 _Finally, Charles/Moira/Kevin/David. They are my favorite couple in the movieverse, and my heart beamed for every moment they put in the latest movie. It really felt like we were coming full circle. Confession time: I have never written Kevin this extensively before. I think I may use him more in the future. He kind of stole my heart.  
_

 _I don't know when my next story will be, but it'll be a few months at least. I need to make sure my hands don't fall off from writing too much. In the meantime, check out "Monsters" by Coyote Blues. It might be the best Kurt story on the sight, and it does a great job of exploring the intricacies of having parents like Mystique and Azazel.  
_

 _Now, for shoutouts. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed, those I could reply to and those I couldn't. A special thanks to KarateGirl70, who helped me with some of the more medical aspects of pregnancy, the talented Coyote Blues for her feedback, my constant reviewers savedbygrace94, Elora Donovan, jguti210 and of course, brigid1318, knightphoenix2, Alequandra and BROSMP! Thank you all!_


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